The Wolf of the Sea
by NeverGold
Summary: Percy Jackson had lived a full life. Patiently he waits for death so he can join his family in the Underworld. But when the souls of the loves of his life are stolen and reborn in a new world, he must chase after them. Reborn in the land of Westeros, a new wolf joins the North. Inspired by Arkane007 "Reborn: Into the Wild Westeros" and Wyvern03 "The Alpha Wolf"
1. Prelude

Percy Jackson lay dying upon a hospital bed. On his left was his eldest daughter, Jaycee, and her husband and baby boy. On his right was his son, Tristan, and his two daughters.

As the old man lay there, listening to the drone of the medical machinery and waiting for his youngest daughter to arrive, he reminisced upon his life.

After the Giant War and the whole debacle with the Triumvirate was sorted out, he and his girlfriend, Annabeth, finally moved to New Rome to finish university. Percy graduated with a master of science on Marine Biology, while Annabeth graduated with a master's degree on Architecture.

They moved into an apartment in the Bay Area, near Annabeth's family house. They'd find work in the city, and in the summer go visit both Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood.

The couple often joined Grover and Rachel Elizabeth Dare in their movement to preserve and protect nature. During these times, with help from Grover, Percy learned to do nature magic using the blessing of Pan.

Occasionally Percy would be called upon by Reyna and Frank to settle disputes in the senate. Percy never liked doing those jobs, but he was very good at politics, surprisingly.

Once Percy and Annabeth had finally settled into their new lives, they finally got married. Annabeth was the one to finally propose, since Percy kept fumbling his words nervously.

Honestly, Percy, Annabeth had said as she took the ring from him with a fond smile. You are such a Seaweed Brain. Let's get married.

Old Percy smiled at the memory. The wedding was a humble affair. Only close friends and family were invited. Leo accidentally melted the cake when he got excited. Percy never let him live that down. Frank got drunk and turned into an ostrich on the dancefloor.

Percy's mother cried as they danced together. Annabeth held Percy's little sister, Estelle as they sat watching. It was a beautiful night.

A year later Annabeth gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. They named her Jaycee, after their fallen friend Jason Grace. They named Thalia as godmother. She cried at the time, but refused to admit it.

Percy and Annabeth had fifteen wonderful years together, full of peace and happiness. Then Annabeth got sick.

She didn't get better.

Percy spent the next year in a depressed state. The only thing that kept him going was his lovely daughter. He was supposed to take care of her, but she took care of him. She got him back on his feet.

Percy decided then that he would live for his daughter as he waited to meet Annabeth again in the Underworld. He promised not to love another woman again.

Then he ran into Piper.

She had not been the same after Jason's death. She had regretted not being able to save him. She decided she would make sure that never happened again.

She graduated as an attorney, and soon became a politician. She used her position, and her charmspeak to pass certain laws that would secretly help demigods in need. She knew she wouldn't be able to help all of them, but she was going to try her best.

With her busy schedule, she had not found time to start a relationship. She was too focused on her work. Her assistant had suggested she take a break. That's when she ran into Percy.

The two of them started catching up. The last they saw each other was during Jaycee's fifth birthday. Piper was at a conference in Washington when Annabeth died. She only heard the news after Annabeth was buried and couldn't attend the funeral.

Percy and Piper started hanging out, and after a few months started dating. In a couple years, they got married.

Their wedding was much smaller now. Piper's father had died long before, so she had no family to attend. It was only their friends and Percy's family.

They were happily married for several decades. They had two more kids, who they named after their parents, respectively. Tristan and Sally. They watched them grow, until they all had families of their own. They lived a good life.

After forty years, their bodies started to fail them. As godly as they were, they were still mortal. Time had finally caught up to them. They were bedridden for several months. Piper died first. That was over a week ago. Now Percy lay in bed waiting to join her and finally see Annabeth again.

As Old Percy gazed tiredly at the clock on the wall, he heard the door to his hospital room squeak open. In came his youngest daughter, Sally. She smiled sadly at her father, apologizing for being late. Percy tried to tell her it's alright but he started coughing. His son Tristan laid a hand on his shoulder telling him to take it easy.

The Jackson family spent the rest of the day chatting and telling each other stories of their own little clans. Percy smiled at the sight. Then it was time for them to leave. They didn't want to leave their father, but Percy told them he wanted to rest. He told them he loved them, and to always take care of each other. The siblings left with their children, saying their goodbyes and I-love-you's.

Then Percy was alone. An old man who had lived a full life. He let out a tired breath as he slowly closed his eyes shut. He drifted off peacefully to sleep.

And he never woke again.


	2. Passing Through Fire

Darkness. He is surrounded by darkness. He hears the whispering of the wind around him, feel its cold touch on his skin. He opens his eyes and still sees only the cold abyss. He is lying down but cannot feel the ground. Is he floating?

 _Where am I...?_

The thought passes through his mind like water flowing through a stream. Still he sees nothing. He tries to move, but it's like moving through deep waters.

Water. The sea. He loves the sea. Why does he love the sea? He tries to remember.

Something catches his attention. A shadow, somehow darker than the inky blackness of this strange place. It moves quickly and makes him wonder if it was ever there.

 _Hello…?_

He calls out. Or he thinks so. Did he speak? He can't remember.

There's a light ahead of him. It's faint, like a dying candle. He reaches out for it. Or he thinks so. He cannot see his arm stretching out towards the light, but he feels it. He claws at it, not out of desperation to escape the darkness, but out of curiosity. It shouldn't be here. He knows that. How does he know that?

There is a faint hum in the air. The light grows stronger. It pulls at him, calling him towards it. He feels a pull. Something is dragging him to the light. He lets it, and the light grows brighter until there is only light around him. Light so bright it may as well be darkness for all that he cannot see.

The light dies down. He is sitting on a comfy chair. He sees a lantern on a table in front of him. On the other side is a man with skin the color of teakwood, holding a set of cards in his hands. The man is lean and muscular, with a regal face, honey gold eyes, and black hair flowing down his shoulders. Surrounding him are a pair of dark wings.

"Hello, boy," the man speaks to him. "You're just in time."

The boy struggles to speak. In a wispy voice he tries to ask who the man is. The winged man sees his plight and snaps his fingers. The boy feels his throat rattle then with an exhale, his voice is clear.

"There," the man smiles at the boy. "That should help."

"Who are you?" the boy asks quickly. "Where are we?"

The man frowns in confusion for a moment, before a realization hits him. He leans forwards and his eyes scan the boy as if he were looking for something. "It seems you don't remember anything. Do not worry, it's a temporary symptom of your current condition."

The man lets out a small chuckle. The boy frowns. The man sees this and smiles. "Your name was Percy Jackson. And we are in my home."

As soon as the boy hears his name, a barrage of memories flood into him like water breaching a dam. Percy Jackson, son of Sally Jackson and Poseidon, god of the sea. He is a demigod, a half-blood. He remembers his life. The quests he's gone on, the friends he'd made, and the friends he'd lost.

Annabeth. Piper.

Percy turns back to the man, who he now recognizes as Thanatos, god of death. "I'm dead."

It was not a question, but Death nodded anyway. " Yes, died in your sleep a week after your second wife, Piper McLean did.

"You'll be happy to know that your children and grandchildren will live peacefully for the rest of their days. Your sister, Estelle has another decade before she joins you."

Percy frowned. "Then why am I not in the Underworld with Piper? Annabeth's waiting for me there, too. She's been waiting for decades now."

Thanatos starts shuffling the deck of cards, his beautiful features marred by the slight scowl on his face. "Yes, they _were_. Things are complicated right now. I've brought you here because my sisters want to speak to you about it."

"What do you mean _were_? And which sisters?" Percy growled.

Thanatos unfurled his wings to their full length, his feathers glimmering with shades of blue, black and purple. As he curls them back in, behind him stand three figures. Three ancient old ladies with silver hair tied back with a white bandanna, wearing cotton dresses. Percy's eyes narrowed at the sight of them.

The Fates.

"Greetings, young Perseus," said the one in the middle. Atropos, the Fate of Death. In her hands she held a basket filled with blue thread. On either side of her, her sisters were continuously knitting a giant, blue scarf. "It has been a lifetime since last we met."

The Fates chuckled as they continued knitting. Percy rolled his eyes. With a bit of anger and suspicion, he asks them what they want with him.

"Peace, demigod," said the one on the left. Lachesis, the Fate of Life. "We do not wish to trouble you, but something has happened to your wives."

Percy straightened in his seat. His hands gripped hard on the armrests of his chair. "What do you mean?"

"Someone has tampered with fate," said Thanatos as he laid down several cards on the table. "You and your friends have done much for Olympus. As such you were all granted a peaceful afterlife in the Isles of the Blest."

"Yes," said Atropos. "Your Annabeth had been waiting there for you, and Piper had arrived there as well."

Percy sensed he was about to hear something he would not want to hear. "But…?"

"They're gone," said the Fate on the right, who had been silent for some time now. Clotho, the Fate of Childbirth. "Someone took them."

Percy broke one of his armrests. He was shaking and seething with rage. "How? _Who_ "

The Fates shook their heads. "Who, we do not know," said Atropos. " _How_ , however, is another thing entirely."

She turned her head to Clotho, who sighed with irritation. "They have been reborn."

Before Percy could ask what she meant, she continued. "Not by choice, mind you. Someone or something forcefully took their souls from the Underworld and placed them in newborns."

"Can't you just take them back?" Percy asked. "If this is against Fate, then shouldn't you be able to do something?"

"We control the Fate of every being of this world," said Lachesis. "There in lies the problem. They are no longer of _this_ world."

Percy was getting a headache now. He was confused, worried, and angry. "Where are they?"

"In a world beyond our own," spoke Thanatos. "A land of ice and fire. Where kings rule the earth, dragons claim the sky, and the dead bring the long night."

"It seems whatever took your beloved ones," Clotho began. "Lives in this other world. Why they were taken I do not know, but I don't believe it is for benevolent reasons.

"We sensed their taking too late and were unable to stop them. Fortunately, we managed to disrupt the foreign magic used to bring them to the other world. Instead of being brought directly to the summoner, we dispersed them as far away as possible. They are safe for now."

Percy let out a small breath of relief, but the worry did not leave him. "Is there nothing we can do?"

"Not us, no," said Thanatos. "But that's why you are here."

The demigod's hopeless look slowly disappeared as he began to realize why he was truly here. "You want to send me after them."

Lachesis nodded, still knitting the scarf. "We do not like when someone tampers with fate. Though you and your beloveds are technically out of our purview upon your death, we do not respond well to someone messing with the weave.

"So we offer you this chance, Perseus. We will send you to this strange land to find your lovers and bring them back. Do you accept?"

Percy raised an eyebrow at the question. _Really?_ he thinks to himself. _As if they need to ask._

Thanatos and the Fates chuckle as they sense his thoughts. "There will be much hardships in this world," Clotho explains. "We will have to send you the same way your lovers were, by rebirth into this world. We will not be able to guide you when you are there. Once you arrive you must rely on yourself."

"That doesn't mean we won't be giving you some help," Atropos spoke up with a wink at Percy.

The demigod blinked at the information. Lachesis sees the surprise on his face. "Like I said Perseus, we do not like it when someone tampers with fate. We will be giving you gifts that we feel will benefit you in this new world."

Percy turns to Thanatos, and jokingly asks if he'll be receiving a gift from death as well. Thanatos laughs and says yes he will. Needless to say, Percy is stunned but grateful.

Atropos steps towards the half-blood. "Fate will have no hold on you in this world, so I offer you protection." The old lady waves her hand in front of the half-blood. There is a brief flash around him, though he doesn't feel different. "You are now warded from death. The gift will protect you from fatal harm, but only once. Be careful."

Thanatos came next. He placed a hand on the boy's chest. Percy gasped as he felt a strange sensation. He looked down to see a mark on his body. "You have been marked by death," said Thanatos. "Any who follow the god of death is now honor bound to serve you faithfully."

"How does this help?" Percy asked.

The god of death grins. "Death is prominent in all worlds, Percy Jackson. I'm sure there are those who revere me even where you are going."

Clotho and Lachesis place a hand on each of Percy's. "Together, we give you the gift of knowledge and power. You will retain your memories as Percy Jackson and the gifts you received as a child of the sea. The blessing of Pan will also remain with you."

Percy begins to glow once more and, as the lights fade, the Fates step back. The three sisters speak in unison. "May these gifts aid you on your journey. Find the one responsible for this crime against fate and bring down justice upon them."

The sisters of fate begin to chant in the old language. As they do, the fire from the candle sways and grows. It consumes the table where it rests and begins to swirl on the non-existent floor. It spirals into a vortex of flame where an image of a warrior stands proudly, beckoning to Percy.

Before the boy could step into the flames, Thanatos places a hand on Percy's shoulder. "This life will be new start for you Perseus, a blank slate. Live honorably, and upon you and your lovers' deaths, I will retrieve you and bring you to the isles."

Percy grins at Death. "Live long and prosper?"

Death nods and lets him go. Percy stares into fire for a moment. He studies the figure in the flames as it beckons him forward. The son of Poseidon sighs deeply. In a low voice, he whispers, "One last adventure."

Then he steps forward and grasps the fiery figure's hand. The vortex of flame consumes him. All he hears is the roar of the flames, all he sees is the blinding light of the fire.

And then darkness once more.


	3. A Star is Born

_Starfall, Dorne (277 A.C._

It's a cold, beautiful evening in Dorne. Strong winds from the Summer Sea blow inland following the Torrentine. The waters are raging, lapping at the shore like a hungry maw trying to devour the land. There's a storm coming in from the sea. The howling winds mask the shrill scream coming from within the walls of Starfall.

"Push, Lady Ashara!"

A woman lays on a bed of beautiful silks, screaming as she tries to push a young babe out of her. Her dark hair is disheveled and her purple eyes are filled with pain and excitement. She had been in labor since the storm had begun in the Summer Sea. She is being tended by several maids, holding her hand and wiping her face with a cloth. The woman takes a few deep breaths then continues to push.

"That's it my lady," one of her maids encouraged. "I can see its head!"

Ashara's eyes gleam at the news. With renewed vigor, she continues pushing, wishing to hold her child in her arms as soon as possible. Outside the storm inches closer. Beyond the castle walls, the smallfolk begin to pray to the Seven Who Are One to protect them from the coming storm.

Inside the castle, two figures stand outside the room where Lady Ashara is giving birth. A man with pale blond hair and dark blue eyes, and a young woman with dark hair and purple eyes. Both of them wait with bated breath.

"It sounds like a boy," the young woman whispered to the man. "What do you think, brother?

"I think it sounds like our sister is being torn apart," the man growled. As if to emphasize the point, Ashara screams again.

The man turns to his younger sister. "Why don't you go in and help her, Allyria? She sounds pained."

Allyria snorts and looks up at her brother with a face that reads _Did you actually ask me that?_ "She's pushing a human being out of her cunt, of course she's pained. And the maids know what they're doing, I'd just be in the way."

Allyria looks up at her brother, who's still staring at the door like he wants to break it down. "Relax, Lord Alric. You look like you're about to shit yourself."

Alric turned to his sister, annoyed. Before he could say anything, they both hear a different cry coming from the bedroom. It was the cry of a baby.

"Bet you a gold dragon it's a boy," said Allyria just as the doors swung open, revealing one of the castle maids. She smiles at the highborn siblings and beckons them in.

The maid leads them to their sister, who is currently holding her child in her arms. With a tired smile, Ashara shows the dark-haired babe to her siblings. "It's a boy," she whispers happily.

The siblings grin at the news, Alric, ignoring Allyria's "I told you so." The lord approaches his sister and nephew. Placing a hand on the boy's own small one, he watches as the baby opens it's eyes and looks at him.

The boy's gaze felt odd. He looked at Alric with his beautiful purple eyes with flecks of sea-green. Alric felt like the boy was studying him. His gaze felt much older than it should be. Shaking his head and turning to Ashara, Alric asked what the child's name would be.

Ashara looked down at her son. She smiled giddily as the boy gurgled happily at the sight of her. She was silent for a moment before announcing, "Arthos. His name is Arthos."

Alric smiled down at the boy. "A fine name. Arthos Sand. He will serve House Dayne well."

"No," Ashara said, her voice steely. "Not Sand."

Alric stared at her, confused. All noble bastards born in Dorne were named Sand. And since Ashara was not married, the her son was a bastard by law. Alric turned to Allyria with eyebrows raised. The youngest Dayne shrugged and looked at her sister I confusion. "What do you mean, Ashara?"

"He's not a Sand," Ashara said. "He's a Stark. Arthos Stark, son of Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell."

Ashara looked both her siblings in the eye before continuing. "My husband."

Outside the commonfolk confused the cry of rage as part of the raging storm battering down on their homes.

 _Asshai, Essos (same time)_

A red priestess sits by the fire, praying to the Lord of Light to guide her. She stares into the flames for hours, awaiting a sign from her great god. Just as she is about to retire for the day and continue later in the night, an image flickers into view.

The priestesses eyes widen in surprise. She stares harder into the flame. _There it is again!_ she thinks to herself. _What is that…?_

Suddenly, the priestess gasps and stands up so quickly she nearly topples the fire. She steadies herself and takes a deep breath. She hikes up her long, flowing, red robes and makes her way into the red temple.

 _I must go west at once._

 _Beyond the Wall (same time)_

Freezing winds blow through the ruins of an old castle half-buried in snow and ice. Upon the highest point, sat on a frozen throne is a humanoid figure. Its skin as blue as the ice where it sits, with sharp protrusions in the shape of a crown on its head. Its eyes as bright blue as the cold sky, look out into the distance. Seeing far beyond the land of always winter, as far south as south goes.

It smiles.


	4. Before the Fire

_Starfall, Dorne (281 A.C)_

Arthos stood on the shores of the Torrentine river, the current lapping at his bare feet. The young lord held his hands out, calling the water to him. With a small pull in his gut, the river answered the call of its prince.

The water flowed through his hands like the famous vipers in the deserts of Dorne. Arthos smiled as he felt the rush of energy as the sea gave him its strength.

The first few years of his life had been quite dull. Most of his time was spent learning about this new world. Thankfully, he did not retain his dyslexia and could finally read without experiencing a headache. He could tell his ADHD was still active, though he kept it under wraps as best he could.

Because he retained his memories, the maester teaching him called him a genius. In truth it was only because he had already learned most of their lessons before. Arthos didn't complain though. He learned new things much quicker, the Old Tongue and Valyrian being surprisingly easy to grasp for him.

The biggest problem he had was his new family. The head of House Dayne, his Uncle Alric, did not like Arthos much due to the circumstances of his parentage. Often the man would glare at him like he was a slight upon his household. Arthos' cousin, Gerold was a little prick who was always picking on him. The only good Dayne was his mother. Speaking of which.

Arthos turned to look behind him as he heard someone calling his name. He sees the Lady Ashara coming to him, a retinue of guards and servants with her.

Ashara Dayne, his mother. Arthos did not know how to feel about that. She was a good mother, a kind soul. But he also remembers a different mother, one with brown hair and blue eyes. Sally Jackson, mother of Percy Jackson. That was the name he had in his previous life.

However, this world knows him as Arthos Stark, secret son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne. The young nobles had courted each other and secretly wed years ago. Something young Arthos is reminded of everyday by Alric in distaste.

"My son," Ashara says in an exasperated voice. She looks at his discarded shoes and his bare feet with a frown. "What are you doing? I told you to not to run off on your own."

"I'm sorry mother," Arthos replied. "I just wanted to practice."

The young lord continued to manipulate the water around him, much to the astonishment of those around him. They had learned of his strange magic when he was but three namedays. The maid bathing him had fainted when the child lifted the water out of the tub and flooded the room. They were found later, the maid completely drenched and Arthos dry as the desert sands. Blessed by the gods, they called him, though others whisper of his abilities as witchcraft. Arthos paid them no mind.

"Careful, little lord," one of the guards warned him. "Some folk may not react kindly to your displays of magic."

"It doesn't matter what they think," Ashara defended. "My son is blessed, and that's all there is. But it's time to go now, my dear. Our journey to Harrenhal is long and it's best to leave now."

Arthos sighed and dropped the water back into the river. He put on his shoes and grabbed his mother's outstretched hand. "Do we have to go, mother?"

"Yes, my star, we must. Princess Elia will be attending with her husband, Price Rhaegar. As her lady-in-waiting, I must be there for her. Do you not wish to accompany your mother?"

Ashara looked at her son, feigning hurt at the thought. Arthos pouted at her but said nothing. Their entourage chuckled at the little lord. Ashara smiled as she brushed his hair out of his eyes. "We have family attending there as well. You can meet your uncle Arthur, I know you've been looking forward to seeing him."

Arthos grinned and grew excited at the thought. The Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne! The greatest swordsman of their time. Arthos hoped to learn from him, but he was still too young. Ashara would never allow it.

"And also," Ashara continued, bringing her son back from his deep thoughts. "I believe House Stark will be attending the tourney as well."

The boy did not respond. He did not know what to feel about that either. As Percy he held no connection to the Starks, but as Arthos they were family to him. He didn't know what to do.

Ashara took his silence for nervousness. She knelt in front of her son and looked him in the eye. It's always an experience looking into her son's eyes. They had a much too old gaze for a child. She thought of him as an old soul in young body. She didn't know how right she was.

"Do not be nervous, Arthos," she said. "I'm sure your father will be happy to see you."

"Does he know about me?" Arthos asked. "The people call me Sand instead of Stark, but you and father are married. He has never come here for me, not once. Why am I being hidden?"

Ashara sighed as she gazed sadly at the large castle in the Red Mountains. "Nobility is complicated, my star. Your grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, has arranged a marriage for your father to House Tully of the Riverlands. Brandon and I had already married, however, which Lord Rickard did not take kindly.

"He's kept it secret, hoping to convince Brandon to annul our marriage and sweep the problem under the rug. Your father refused, but Rickard is nothing but stubborn and is still trying."

"Is that all I am, a problem?" Arthos asked with a scowl. He remembered the old feelings of anger and hurt from his previous life, when he first learned his father was alive and a god. "Is that why Uncle Alric hates me?"

"You are not a problem," his mother vehemently stated. "You are my little star, my pride and joy. Your uncle and grandfather are just being stubborn fools clinging to their ambitions."

Arthos looked down, but remained quiet. He knew Ashara loved him, as any good mother would to their child. The rest of his family, however, had always bullied of belittled him. He had no reason to believe that the Starks would be any different.

Ashara raised his head with a finger and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Your father also loves you, do not doubt that. I have written him letters about you, Brandon is quite excited to meet you though Lord Rickard refuses to let him leave Winterfell to visit.

"However, since they've also been invited to Lord Whent's tourney, your father is hoping to see you there. Which is why I want to bring you with me to Harrenhal. He's quite excited to see you. Will you give him a chance?"

Arthos felt a pang of joy at his mother's words. He hoped that was true. Perhaps this time he can grow up with both of his parents, in a loving home. It would probably make finding Annabeth and Piper easier if his father takes him in.

Arthos smiled at his mother and gave a curt nod. Ashara returned his smile and gave him a brief hug before standing up. She gestured to one of her handmaids. "Go on ahead and make sure the horses are ready to leave when we get there."

The girl curtsied then left ahead of them. Ashara took her son's hand in hers and they began their journey to the grandest tourney in all of Westeros.

 _On the Kingsroad (same time)_

Brandon Stark rode impatiently on his horse. Beside him his younger brother, Eddard, looked at him warily while their two other siblings chuckled at Brandon's actions. Alongside them was a great host of northmen, travelling down the Kingsroad into the Riverlands, to take part at the tourney at Harrenhal.

On the same road coming from the capital of King's Landing, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen rode with his family, the kingsguard travelling alongside them. Many lords and knights from the Stormlands and the Reach also accompanied them. The dragon prince marched on eagerly, all his plans coming together at last. Soon there would be a great many changes made in the Seven Kingdoms.


	5. A Spark to Ignite

_Along the Kingsroad, near Brindlewood_

The Dayne entourage had been travelling along the Mander as they made their way to their first stop of King's Landing. Ashara had hoped to catch the princess before they left the capital for Harrenhal. As they neared the gates of King's Landing, they saw a procession of men carrying the banners of House Martell.

It seemed Prince Oberyn Martell had the same thought as Ashara, however both were unfortunately late, as the royal entourage had left a few days ago. The prince extended an invitation for Ashara and her troupe to travel with House Martell.

"You are our people," the prince explained. "Of course we must accompany you. We are going to the same place after all."

And so the Daynes travelled under the Martell flag. Currently they were resting near a small wood far from the Kingsroad. It was early afternoon on a cloudy day. A soft breeze blowing in from the east as the travelers sat down to rest.

Arthos was intrigued with the Prince. They called him the Red Viper, a fierce warrior who fought in the Disputed Lands with the Golden Company. Arthos also respected him for his treatment of his bastard children. He had taken them all in, making sure they were cared for and trained. The people called them the Sand Snakes, as vicious and cunning as their father.

Speaking of which…

Arthos dodged the thrust of a long stick to his gut. He batted it away with his much shorter stick and tested his opponent with a short stab. Obara Sand parried with her "spear" whilst taking a step back, using her weapon's reach to keep Arthos away.

Arthos studied his opponent as they circled each other. The eldest Sand Snake, Obara. She was taller than him, with rat-brown hair tied in a knot, and close-set eyes. She wore riding leathers, men's breeches, a calf-length linen tunic and a belt of copper suns. The older girl twirled her weapon around her body without breaking eye contact with Arthos.

"Showing off?" Arthos asked, a little annoyed. "I thought you said that was used for intimidation. You're not really an intimidating sight, you know."

Obara grinned. "That's right. Though it also has another purpose: a good distraction."

Arthos looked at her in confusion for a second, before his eyes widened in realization and he turned around. Too late, he felt a small body tackle him to the ground. He tried to break free, but they placed a short stick upon his neck and whisper, "Dead."

Arthos groaned and stopped resisting. His arms dropped to the ground as he glared at the young girl straddling his chest, holding a "dagger" to his neck. Tyene Sand, the youngest of Oberyn's bastards. She was fair-skinned with blond hair, and blue eyes. She had a smile on her face, showing off her dimpled cheeks.

"I thought this was supposed to be one-on-one combat," Arthos grumbled as Tyene got off of him and helped him stand up. The young girl giggled. "You should always be aware of your surroundings. You never know when a snake could come striking out of the grass."

Obara stepped towards him and smacked him on the head. "You need to work on your awareness, or you'll die the moment you're caught off guard."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Arthos sighed. Losing was a little frustrating, especially since he knew he could've won. Easily. His knowledge and experience on the battlefield as Percy Jackson should've given him an edge. Unfortunately, his body was still that of a young boy unaccustomed to war. And since his mother had refused to let him train, he hadn't been able to reestablish his combat prowess.

He was thankful to the Sand Snakes, and Prince Oberyn for starting his training. Ashara was against it at first, but the prince insisted.

"Girl or boy, we fight our own battles," he told her. "Your boy should learn that as early as he can."

And so for several weeks, the Sand Snakes had trained him, occasionally leaving him too battered to move. It was grueling and intense, but worth every second. His movement was less stiff now, though still not as good as his old self. Still, it was progress.

As the two sisters continued to point out his faults, there was rustling in the brush around them. They turned to the sound to see Nymeria Sand step out into the grove. She has dark eyes, and olive skin. Her straight black hair is tied into a long braid pulled back from a widow's peak. The girl glanced at her sisters and then at the haggard Arthos, and an annoyed look flashed on her face.

"Seven hells, you beat him up without me?!" she cried angrily as she crossed her arms.

Obara laughed. "Sorry, Nym, but you weren't around and he needed to be taught a lesson."

"You say that as if I'd done something wrong," Arthos complained. Obara just smacked his head.

Nym growled. "Whatever, next session he's mine."

"Oh, he's yours, is he?" Obara asked with teasing tone. "How bold of you sister, dear!"

Nymeria's face was red, from anger or embarassment, Arthos didn't know. "Shut it, you bitch! Father's called for us, we're going to continue our journey."

The irritated girl turned around and stormed off, presumably back to her father and the procession. Obara roared with laughter, and Tyene let out a small giggle as they walked after their sister. Arthos had an amused smile as he followed after them.

The Sand Snakes converged upon their father, telling him about how they thrashed the Dayne bastard. Arthos made for his mother who began doting on him, wiping the dirt from his cheeks and hands. It was a little embarrassing but he let her do it because it made her feel better.

They rode on for another week before they could see the tall towers of Harrenhal. Tyene pointed them out with a gasp. Arthos knew they were still several days away, which meant that the castle was enormous. He never actually believed the stories that Harrenhal was practically a mountain, but now he knew it was true.

The largest castle in Westeros, whose walls no man could penetrate on land. Until a man with dragons came. Even at this distance Arthos could see the marks where Aegon the Conqueror's great dragon burned the walls and all the men inside.

It was a chilling sight.

 _Harrenhal, Riverlands (281 A.C.)_

They arrived the night before the great tourney was to begin. The Sand Snakes were tired so Prince Oberyn took them away to rest. He asked Lady Ashara to tell his sister he would speak to her in the morning. Ashara promised to do so, as soon as she saw her.

They had found Princess Elia in one of the grand rooms of the castle. In her hands she held her daughter, Rhaenys. The girl was barely a year old, but already Arthos could see a striking resemblance to Princess Elia. The same dark hair and eyes.

"It has been so long," Ashara said as she embraced the princess, avoiding the woman's baby bump. "How have you been, my lady?"

"I'm fine, Ashara. Don't worry about me." Elia replied, waving away her concern. "Just tired from the travel. You know how I am with long journeys."

Ashara introduced him to the future queen as Arthos Sand. He tried not to grimace at the name. The princess was very kind, her words were gentle and gracious, though Arthos could see that she was not well. He could feel her deteriorating health. He wasn't sure she'd survive her next childbirth.

As Lady Ashara waited on her princess, Arthos held the young Rhaenys. The baby gurgled and kept pulling at his hair. Before he could complain, the door to the room opened and three men entered.

The first two wore white cloaks and intricate suits with white enameled scales, their breastplates fastened with silver. Kingsguard. They both stood on each side of the third man.

The man had silvery blond hair and deep purple eyes. He wore night-black plate armor with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen decorated with rubies on its breastplate. His long slender fingers held a helm decorated with gold, orange, and red silken streamers that resembled fire on it. Prince Rhaegar.

The prince took his daughter from Arthos, gave her a kiss then placed her back in the boy's arms. He strode to his wife and also gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Good evening, my wife," the prince greeted, his voice like iron. "Are you feeling well?"

"Yes, my prince." Elia replied. "Just a little tired. I'll be resting soon."

"That's good." Rhaegar knelt in front of his wife and kissed her belly. "You take care, my little dragon. We'll be seeing you soon."

He stood still as his Kingsguard removed his armor for him. As they did, Lady Ashara introduced her son, Arthos. One of the Kingsguard fumbled with the armor straps upon hearing the news. After putting away the prince's armor, the white knight turned to the young boy. "So she named you after me, huh?"

This knight had dark hair and purple eyes, just like Ashara. Arthos eyes widened in realization. "Uncle Arthur?"

The Sword of the Morning gave him a big smile. "It's good to finally meet you, nephew."

Ashara smiled as she saw the excitement shine in her little boy's eyes. Arthos begun asking rapid questions at his uncle, ones the older man struggled to answer as quickly as they came. The Prince was highly amused at his friends interactions with the young boy. He chuckled and let them talk for a while, before ordering them all out so his family could rest.

 _Along the Kingsroad, east of the God's Eye (same time)_

The old man rode on his palanquin, his eyes set on the old burned castle of Harrenhal. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. He looked around him, but only his most loyal and trusted servants and knights were riding alongside him. He was safe for now, but soon he would have to deal with a nest of mutinous whelps.

They thought him weak? Bah! He'd show them. The old man scratched at one of the scabs along his arm, his long fingernails scraping against his withered skin. They thought him a fool? No. _They_ were all fools, the lot of them. They thought he wouldn't see, but he did. He knew what they were planning, what his _son_ was planning.

They will not succeed. He will show then all, the people will rejoice when they see him. The old man laughed loudly, making his traveling troupe nervous.

The laughter continued as King Aerys II Targaryen rode upon his palanquin towards the castle of Harrenhal.


	6. A Burst of Flame

_Harrenhal, Riverlands (281 A.C)_

During the opening ceremony, Arthos sat next to his mother in the top box with the royal family, little Rhaenys sat on his lap and drooled all over his linen shirt. King Aerys was also there, much to the surprise, disgust, and horror of the people. It had been four years since anyone had seen the old king outside of the Red Keep. He looked pale and gaunt like a man starved of food and sunlight. His long nails scratched at the scabs along his inner arms. His sunken eyes shifted around with suspicion. Arthos didn't like that the king was so close to him. He reminded him of Tantalus.

They were in one of Harrenhal's large fields just outside the castle. A hundred knights entered the grounds to the cheers of delight of the crowd. Arthos sighed as Rhaenys started biting his finger. He barely payed attention as a young knight with blonde hair was raised to the ranks of the Kingsguard. The people cheered loudly for the knight, while Arthos struggled to keep the dragon princess from chewing off his hand.

Later that night there was a great feast in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. Arthos, much to his chagrin, was delegated the task of "royal babysitter" and was sent to Princess Elia's room with little Rhaenys. They were guarded by a white cloak, the princess's uncle, Lewyn Martell and one of Ashara's personal guards, Symon.

Arthos scowled as Rhaenys tried to climb his head by pulling on his hair. Ser Lewyn smiled at the dragon princess fondly, while Symon tried to hide his laughter. Before Arthos lost his patience, Ashara and Elia arrived to relieve him. Elia took her daughter and the girl cried as she was pulled away from her new toy. Ashara took her son back to their room.

"It seems the little princess has grown fond of you," Ashara commented with a smile. She ran her fingers through her son's messed up hair, trying to smooth it down back to its much less unruly state. Arthos grumbled quietly to himself, making Ashara laugh.

The next day, after the whole incident with the Knight of the Laughing Tree, Ashara brought Arthos to meet his father, Brandon Stark. The man had been defeated in his joust with Prince Rhaegar earlier that day and was off the field, recovering. They joined him in his tent while his family was out and about.

Brandon Stark was quite the boisterous personality. The man was tall, with a powerful build. His grey eyes gleamed with a wild spirit. He was ecstatic to meet his son and quite passionate with his wife. Arthos was slightly embarrassed by their more "romantic" exchanges, but they hadn't seen each other in years so he let it slide.

Brandon spent the next several days bonding with his son, teaching him to ride and generally just spending time with him. He couldn't do it often without raising some suspicions, but he came when he could. Arthos found him a comforting presence, and nights with both of his parents were a welcome change.

His father had eventually explained to him why he couldn't take them to Winterfell, something Arthos tried to ask several times. They were riding around Harrenton, near the shore of the God's Eye and away from the people, when Arthos broached the subject.

"My father refuses to break the deal he made with Hoster Tully," Brandon explained. "My betrothal to the riverlord's daughter, Catelyn, would ensure a strong alliance with the Riverlands. They are our biggest importers of food, second only to the Reach. We need their help to feed our people since we can't grow our own food."

"Why can't one of your other brothers marry the Tully girl?" Arthos asked.

"I've told my father the same thing, but Lord Hoster is an ambitious man. He wants to have his grandchildren on the seat of Winterfell, to consolidate power in the North for House Tully. As heir to Winterfell, I am his way in."

Brandon sighed. "Father is in a bind. In any other circumstance, he wouldn't have minded my marriage to Ashara, but he has to cater to the needs of his people and Lord Hoster can provide that."

They were silent for a minute, pondering their family's situation. Then Arthos perked up and turned to his father excitedly. "I think I have something that can help with the problem."

Brandon looked at him curiously. Arthos made sure that no one was close enough to hear their discussion. He leaned closer to his father and whispered. "Has mother told you about my...?" He wiggled his fingers.

Brandon looked confused for a moment, before he realized what Arthos meant. "Your magic? Yes, why?"

"I think I can help the North grow their own crops."

"Can you really do that?"

"I was able to grow an apple tree in desert sand once at Starfall."

It was true. Arthos had pushed the boundaries of his blessing from Pan to grow a small sapling in the barren desert sand. He'd burnt up with a fever for a week afterwards, and couldn't use Pan's gift for another two more. His nature magic was meant for the wilds of forests and grasslands, not barren desert wastes.

Brandon looked astounded. "This is... wonderful news! If we can grow our own crops, then we wouldn't have to rely so heavily on the other kingdoms. It would be a great boon for the North. It'll be hard to convince my father to give it a try, but if it's successful then this could solve all our problems."

The wild wolf gave his son a big, excited smile which Arthos returned.

The next few days were a blur as Arthos spent his time divided between watching over Rhaenys (who he refused to admit he'd grown fond of), training with his Uncle Arthur or the Sand Snakes, and making more plans with his father. Brandon was pleasantly surprised with his son's insight, especially with how young he was. He was quite proud.

On the night of the eighth day, a comet passed by Westeros while Princess Elia went into labor. She nearly died giving birth to a son. They named the baby boy Aegon. Rhaegar was ecstatic at the sight of his son, but grew despondent when he learned from the maesters that Elia would not be able to bear him any more children.

Arthos spent the next night with Ashara in Princess Elia's room. The two older women were looking after little Aegon, while Arthos tried to teach Rhaenys how to say his name. It was a trying venture because the little girl refused to even try.

"Come on, princess," Arthos tried as they both sat facing each other, on the floor in front of the bed. "Say it with me. AR-thos."

Rhaenys shook her head, her flowing hair bouncing around her head. "No!" she said with a glare and pouted lips.

Arthos sighed as he watched the little girl crawl away from him towards her mother. Ashara picked her up so Rhaenys could be closer to Elia. Elia laughed at her daughter's stubborn refusal to learn the boy's name. She rubbed her girl's head and turned to Arthos. "Young man, could you please go find my husband. I wish to speak with him."

Arthos stood up and bowed. "Of course, my lady."

He headed out in search for Rhaegar. He found some of the Kingsguard, including his Uncle Arthur, standing guard outside on of the gardens with hedge walls. There were also a few Stark men waiting with them. He asked the white cloaks where Prince Rhaegar was and they told him he was in the gardens. Arthos asked to go in and was denied at first, but Ser Arthur let him in eventually.

The garden had really large hedges, and Arthos got a bit lost for a moment before he came into a small clearing with several stone benches arranged in a circle. In the center was a large tree with red and orange leaves. Under the tree stood Rhaegar Targeryen holding Lyanna Stark close in his arms.

"-prove it to you, Lyanna," the Prince said.

Arthos froze, then stepped back behind a hedge and watched them. He didn't know what was happening, but he was sure that he wasn't supposed to be seeing or hearing any of this. Still, he remained quiet and watched from the shadows.

"I'll prove my words true." Rhaegar pushed a stray lock of hair behind the lady's ear. "Tomorrow, I'll win the tourney in your name, Lyanna Stark."

Lyanna had tear streaks on her face as she gave the prince a dry laugh. "I'll believe it when I see it, my prince."

Arthos decided he'd seen enough. He hid from their view, straightened up and called out in as innocent a voice as he could. "Prince Rhaegar?"

He gave them a moment to separate before coming out from behind his hiding spot. They stood apart now, with Rhaegar tugging on his sleeves and Lyanna wiping her face. "Prince Rhaegar, your _wife_ -" Arthos stressed, "-is calling for you. She's waiting in her room."

"Thank you, I'll be there shortly," Rhaegar replied curtly. Arthos nodded giving the prince half a glare, and spared a glance at Lyanna who's eyes were still red from crying. He caught her eye and they stared at each other for a moment before he broke away and left.

Back at the princess's room, Arthos watched as Rhaegar lovingly held his son as he spoke softly to his wife. As if he'd not been holding another woman mere minutes ago, whispering sweet words to her as well. Arthos didn't tell anyone about what he'd seen in the garden. He hoped it was just a simple fling and that nothing would come of it. He didn't tell anyone.

He wished he had.

Tha next day, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen defeated Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard in the final tilt, earning the right to crown the queen of love and beauty. The crowds cheered for their beloved prince, up until he rode past his wife and placed a crown of winter roses on Lyanna Stark's lap.

That night, Arthos had one of his most unpleasant dreams yet, in this life.

A pack of wolves were chasing a black dragon with something in its claws, through shifting terrain. First, they were in grasslands, then a forest, a wheat field, then a scorching desert. The dragon flew towards a small sandstone tower as the wolves followed behind him, growling and snarling. The dragon and the tower disappeared and they were back in a forest now. Another dragon came, a sickly-looking one with mottled green skin and festering wounds. It breathed fire upon the wolves, burning them all, except one.

As the green dragon approached the last wolf, a giant stag came charging out of the woods and chased it away. The dragon flew back towards a red hill as the stag and the wolf followed. Arthos heard bells ringing, armies marching and people screaming. He saw a lion on a rock watching the wolf and stag attack the green dragon.

The black dragon returned and battled the stag, whose eyes went red with fury at the sight of it. They traded blows, stomping and scratching at each other, before the stag pierced the dragons' chest with its antlers. Rubies fell from its wound instead of blood. The green dragon roared in anger, then was promptly silenced when the lion snuck up behind it and bit its neck.

The lion looked behind the red hill where two little dragons were hiding behind a snake. A large, black scorpion came out the lion's maw and began stinging one of the dragons even after it stopped moving. Then the lion dropped a mountain on the snake and the last dragon.

The lion roared, the wolf howled sadly, and the stag reared back and raised its front hooves in victory.

Then the image pulled back and Arthos was standing on a road. The way ahead leads to the vision he had seen. Then he saw a fork on the road, the second path leading to a large, old weirwood tree. Upon one of its branches perched a three-eyed raven. It opened its beak and a high-pitched ringing noise filled Arthos' ears. As the ringing grew louder, he could hear an old voice calling out to him.

 _Alter the course..._

And then he woke up.

 **A/N:**

 **I'm not very happy with this chapter. I rewrote it several times but it still feels bad to me.**

 **I probably shouldn't have tried to condense it into one chapter, but I really didn't want to drag it out too long.**

 **Anyway, sorry if it's a mess. Hope you still like it.**


	7. Fire and Ruin

_The Red Keep, King's Landing (282 A.C.)_

After the scandal at Harrenhal, Ashara brought Arthos along as she joined the royal family back to King's Landing. Many nobles were insulted by Rhaegar's actions, including Arthos' father Brandon. The man wanted kill the prince, but his family calmed him down. He was still miffed, though; he kept glaring at Rhaegar as everyone prepared to depart. Arthos said goodbye to his father who was on his way back to Winterfell, with a quick stop at Riverrun. Brandon promised to send for him once he was home.

Two weeks into their travel south, Prince Rhaegar separated from the caravan heading to the capital. He'd taken six men, including Ser Arthur Dayne, and said he had forgotten some business he had to take care of. He told his wife he'd meet her back at King's Landing, then rode off back to the riverlands. That was the last they had seen him.

Arthos sat in the godswood of the Red Keep, under the great oak whose limbs were overgrown with smokeberry vines. His tired eyes watched the falling leaves around him, letting out a small yawn. It had been a month and a half since the tourney at Harrenhal, and he hadn't had a good night's sleep since. He'd been plagued by nightmares of dying dragons and screaming ravens.

He'd shared his visions with his mother during their month long travel to King's Landing. Ashara looked troubled afterwards as she pondered Arthos' dreams. Her son had had visions before that all came to pass, but none as disturbing as this. Ashara told him she'd look into it and to put it out of his mind. He tried, but he could feel the change in the air, the presence of creeping dread like all of Westeros were holding their breaths waiting.

Things were brewing under the surface, and the raven's words circled his thoughts.

The boy sighed and got up to leave. As he stepped away from his resting place, he stopped and turned to look at the trees again. He could feel someone watching him, felt it ever since he came to the capital. He narrowed his eyes, and looked around. There was no one there. He kept still for a few seconds, then shrugged and made his way out of the godswood.

Ashara watched Princess Elia as she took in her lady-in-waiting's words. She had shared with the princess her son's visions and what she thinks they mean.

They were sat near the window inside the princess's room in Maegor's Holdfast, watching over the children. Rhaenys was sleeping on her mother's bed while Elia held Aegon in her arms. She looked back at Ashara with doubt and fear. "You truly believe in his visions?"

Ashara nodded. "He's had them before, nothing as horrible as this but they've never been wrong."

Elia clutched her son tighter. "You think a war is coming, that it will be because of something Rhaegar will do."

"Yes, and it will be bloody. It may end the Targaryen dynasty. Arthos saw the dragons dying, including the young ones."

Elia looked to her children, her face filled with anguish. She didn't want to believe it. "But you said there's another outcome?"

Ashara nodded. "The raven in his dream told him to alter the course. I think it's a warning from the gods. You need to leave King's Landing. Go east, somewhere safe and far away. Take your children with you."

Elia looked . "That's so drastic. I can't do that, Aerys would never allow it. He watches me closely, afraid that I'm plotting things with my husband. These visions might not even come to pass."

"Then you lose nothing if you do leave. If it does and you stay here… you and you're family will die."

Elia sobbed and started shaking in fear. She didn't know what to do. She didn't want to believe Arthos' dreams would come true, but if they did and she didn't do anything…

Before either woman could say anything more, there was a knock on the door. Ashara got up to open it and she scowled, stepping forward to block him from entering the room. In front of her stood a plump, bald man wearing lavender clothes made of rich silks. Ashara growled at the man. "What do you want, _spider_."

"A pleasure to see you as well, Lady Ashara," Varys, the master of whisperers, tilted his head in a small bow. He turned to the princess with a smile so small it was barely there. "I was on my way to deliver some news to the king and thought the princess would like to hear it first. It does involve her husband."

Elia nodded at Ashara who huffed and stepped back. Varys entered, his soft slippers masking his footsteps. "What have you learned, Lord Varys?"

The spider sat on the chair where Ashara sat earlier. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. It seems that Prince Rhaegar has gone and made off with Lyanna Stark."

Ashara gasped. Elia was stunned. She was horrified. She tried not to panic as Varys kept talking.

"I imagine the girl's family will want her back, though I doubt the king will indulge them. If she's not returned, the North will rebel along with the stormlands. She is betrothed to Robert Baratheon; the man's temper is legendary."

Elia's breathing was getting erratic. Ashara came to her friend's side and started rubbing circles on her back. The purple-eyed woman glared at the eunuch's impassive face. "Enough out of you, spider. You've delivered your news. Now get out."

Varys bowed with an incline of his head and got up from his seat. As he opened the door and was about to leave the room, Elia called out to him. "Wait!"

Varys turned back to the princess who was looking at Ashara with tearful eyes. "Maybe he can help."

"No, princess," Ashara warned. "We can't trust him."

"Is this about your son's dreams, Ashara?" Varys asked innocently. He smiled as Ashara stared at him in shock. "My little birds have told me many stories about him. A bastard child blessed by the gods with magic, how delightful."

Ashara trembled with rage as she glared at the bald man. Elia looked at Varys with desperation as she cradled her son. "Can you help me, Lord Varys?"

The spider gave her a faint smile. "If it's within my power. What do you require?"

 _Starfall, Dorne (two months later)_

Ashara sat in her room in front of a hearth, reading a cipher from Symon, her most trusted guard. In it, the Norvoshi slave warrior reports back upon his mission. He had stayed behind in King's Landing to watch over Elia and her children in case Varys ever betrayed them. So far nothing had happened, but Symon remained vigilant. He had hired a small crew from the docks, who's captain was his own brother. They were prepared to flee with the Targaryen children should the need arise.

Ashara burned the letter and sighed. She was very uneasy that the spider was part of their plans, but had to go along with them. Varys had made good on his promises so far. He'd found some doubles to pretend to be Rhaenys and Aegon when they decide to spirit them away. How he got them, Ashara didn't want to know. She doubted they were given willingly, at least she hoped not.

Ashara stood up and tried not to think of the treacherous spider. She looked out the window to the small garden below. It was actually once a small courtyard, covered in dry desert sand. Arthos had slowly grown many plants during his stay in Starfall. It looked like a tiny oasis. Arthos was tending to the small flower he'd managed to grow in the harsh desert climate. A winter rose.

Ashara watched him sadly. The young boy was extremely upset when they left King's Landing. His father had arrived demanding the return of Lyanna, but King Aerys arrested him for treason. Ashara didn't want to leave the capital, she was too worried about her husband and Princess Elia, but she and several nobles were dismissed by Aerys from the courts after Brandon's arrest. She had taken her son and most of her retainers back to Dorne, leaving a few trusted men with Elia.

On the day of their departure, Elia had brought her children along to see them off. Elia cradled her son while her uncle, Ser Lewyn, held Rhaenys. Ashara didn't want to leave her friend. She knew Elia was feeling anxious over the looming threat of war and her children's safety. Ashara wanted to stay and give her support, but she could not disobey the king's command.

Ashara looked on in sad amusement as Rhaenys struggled in Ser Lewyn's arms. The little girl was crying and reaching out for Arthos. She kept yelling, "No go! No go!" over and over. As their caravan began to embark on their journey south, Rhaenys yelled out strange words Ashara did not understand.

" _ **Φύκια μυαλό**_ ," the girl yelled.

Ashara felt her son freeze upon hearing the words. His body began to shake violently, as he looked back at Rhaenys with such a shocked expression. Ashara watched as Arthos stared at the Targaryen girl, whispering in the same language she assumed the children had made up. " _ **Σοϕό κορίτσι?**_ "

During their travels, Ashara noticed her son's emotions had become quite erratic. Sudden bursts of anger and despair had become a regular occurrence from the once pleasantly calm young man. He'd begged his mother to turn back, but she told him they couldn't. The boy tried to sneak away once, but was caught by her guards. When Ashara confronted him about his behavior, her son exploded. "I can't let her die, not again!"

 _His nightmares_ , she thought to herself. _They must be getting worse._ Ashara had been forced to tell her son about her plans with Elia to keep the children safe, in order to calm him down. She wasn't sure why he suddenly felt so intense about the wellbeing of Rhaenys, but she chalked it up to Arthos having made a strong bond with the girl. After that, Arthos had become less insistent but continued to worry and often looked in the general direction of King's Landing as if he could see all the way to the Red Keep.

Now safe back in Starfall, Ashara couldn't help but worry. She'd heard no news from the capital about her husband and she was growing increasingly distressed. The last thing she'd heard was that Lord Rickard Stark was making his way to King's Landing to champion his son in trial by combat. She prayed every day and night for the gods to keep her beloved safe.

As Ashara Dayne watched her son care for his flowers and trees under her window, there was a knock on her door. She told them to come in. Her brother, Lord Alric, entered the room. Ashara was a little shocked. They had been on bad terms for a long time, since Arthos birth. He only ever spoke to her when they had something important to discuss. He looked at Ashara with such sadness in his eyes.

"Sister," Alric spoke in a soft tone. "I have some news from the capital. Lord Rickard Stark had arrived to King's Landing to fight for his son's innocence as Brandon's champion in trial by combat."

Ashara immediately gave him her full attention. Alric hesitated for a while before continuing with a sigh. "King Aerys named 'fire' as his champion and burned Rickard alive while Brandon strangled himself trying to save his father. The king executed the rest of the northern lords who came with them."

Ashara gasped. She clutched at her chest, falling to her knees as she lost strength in her legs. "No," she whispered, trying to deny the words her brother spoke. She pleaded to the gods that Alric was mistaken, but her brother kneeled down next to her to comfort her. Her gods had ignored her plea.

She let out a mournful scream as her heart shattered.

 **A/N:**

 **I don't like writing author's notes, but I wanted to say a few things.** **I am pleasantly surprised with how well this fic has been received. Almost 100 favorites, and over 100 follows! I didn't think anyone would care about this to be honest, so thank you for proving me wrong. I'd like to take this chance to answer some questions/concerns from some reviewers.**

 **I can't afford the books, so most of my knowledge of A Song of Ice and Fire comes from the TV show and the wiki. Sometimes I'll make mistakes and get some facts wrong, and sometimes there won't be any info so I'll make stuff up. This is fanfiction, I'm basically stretching and reshaping the universe. I'm making most of this shit up.**

 **That being said, I did appreciate the wall of text that was written in the reviews about facts and notes on ASoIaF. Whoever you are, thank you!**

 **Guest: I know Aerys is only in his forties but I call him old since he _looks_ older than he seems. As for where Ashara and Brandon met, that's for next chapter.**

 **Guest:Matt: I'd like to keep it a secret, but if enough people ask then I'll put a list of other PJO characters I'm planning to add to the story.**

 **Thank you for the support! Hope you enjoy the new chapter.**

 **Next Chapter: Aftermath of Robert's Rebellion**


	8. Ashes and Dust

_Starfall, Dorne (283 A.C.)_

Eddard Stark looked up at the pale, stone fortress of Starfall, its massive towers gleaming as the morning sun was reflected from the waters of the Torrentine. Lord Eddard turned to his travelling companions, all injured and weary from their journey. He'd travelled to the to Dorne to retrieve his sister with six companions. Now he returned with three less, and perhaps one more to follow.

With him now was his friend Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. The crannogman sported a scar under his left eye that reached down to his neck. A mark of their battle at the Tower of Joy. Behind them, riding on a red stallion, was Lord William Dustin of Barrowton. The proud lord now looked grim, his left arm gone below the elbow. Next to him on a horse-pulled cart was Ethan Glover, Brandon Stark's former squire. The man lay on the cart with a grievous stab wound. They didn't know if he would survive. On the cart with him was a young wet-nurse, cradling a baby boy a few days old named Jon.

Then there was the other cart, carrying two bodies. Ser Arthur Dayne and Lyanna Stark lay peacefully on the wooden flooring, their corpses covered with dark cloaks.

Eddard's grip tightened on the reins as he thought of them. Neither of them deserved to die as they did, casualties of the actions of a mad king and his son.

As they passed the Torrentine and into the grounds of Starfall, Eddard looked up at one of the windows and saw a young boy watching him and his men. He couldn't see his features other than his dark hair. The boy watched them as the servants took their horses and led them into the Great Hall.

Eddard told the servants to bring his men to the maester for the treatment of their wounds. He also told them to take the bodies from the cart and have them cleaned and prepared for a longer journey. The servants led the rest of his party, along with the wet-nurse and child, through a different hallway to the maester's room while some others carried away the bodies.

Two guards at the door to the Hall greeted Eddard and announced his arrival as they entered the room. Inside he saw Lord Alric Dayne sitting on his pale throne with a displeased look. Beside him stood Ashara Dayne in her Dornish dress of purple and violets. Her purple eyes looked tired as she watched the northern lord approach them and give a bow.

"Lord Eddard of House Stark," Alric acknowledged. "To what do we owe this visit."

Eddard could not miss the disdain in the lord of Starfall's voice. He steeled himself to deliver some awful news to them. He brought out and presented a sword he'd been carrying with him, pale as milkglass. Ashara gave a sharp intake of breath as she saw the blade, while Alric frowned. "I come with grave tidings, Lord Dayne. Ser Arthur shall raise his sword no more. I'm here to return his body so you may give him his final rites."

Ashara came forward and took the sword from Eddard. She held it against her chest, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She turned to Lord Stark with an expression of tired acceptance. Eddard remained silent as the beauty of Starfall nodded and walked out of the Great Hall with her dead brother's sword.

Lord Dayne cleared his throat, turning Eddard's attention back to him. The man's scowl had lessened at the sight of his sister's mournful disposition, but he still regarded the northern lord with distaste. "I thank you for returning Arthur to us, Lord Stark. You and yours may stay in Starfall as my guests, while our maester tends to any wounds."

"Thank you, my lord."

Alric nodded and said no more as he waved the Quiet Wolf away. Eddard bowed and left the hall, making his way to the maester's chambers. Along the way he passed by a beautiful garden filled with flora that shouldn't grow in Dorne, including winter roses. Tending to the garden was the young boy he spotted from the window.

Eddard stopped in his tracks and stared at the boy. He'd seen him before at Harrenhal with Ashara, and Brandon a few times. He looked closely at the boy, who turned to meet his gaze. Eddard caught his breath.

 _He looks like Brandon,_ Eddard thought to himself. The boy had the same unruly mane of dark hair, and sharp features. His eyes were purple, turning grey at the center. His gaze seemed heavy, as if burdened by experience.

They stared at each other for several seconds, before a window above was opened. Ashara poked out of the window pane and glanced at the boy.

"Arthos," she called to the boy, exasperated. "Come back to the room, now."

"Yes, mother," the boy replied. He left hurriedly down a different hallway, leaving Eddard staring after him. He looked back up at Ashara, who also looked back at him with an unreadable expression.

Eddard turned and continued to make his way to the maester to check on his men, his mind racing with questions.

They held Ser Arthur's funeral the next day. Eddard stayed in the maester's chamber, believing his presence would not be wanted. He was looking after Ethan whose wounds were still severe. Howland and William were patched up and resting in the guest rooms.

Ethan's wounds had been infected on their journey, and he was now burning with a fever. He lay on the bed covered in bandages and sweat. The maester said he would not last long and suggested giving him sweetsleep for a painless death. Ethan told the old man to fuck off.

"I'll die when I say I will," he hissed.

Eddard wiped the sweat from Ethan's brow. They both knew he wouldn't survive for long.

Eddard turned at the sound of knocking. Ashara stood by the open doorway, looking tired and sad. The funeral must've just ended. She still wore her mourning clothes, a dark satin dress with violet sequins. She entered the room and sat by Ethan's bed, in front of Eddard.

"Lady Ashara," Ethan grunted in greeting. "I'd bow but I'm quite indisposed at the moment."

Ashara smiled slightly. "It's fine, Ethan. I actually came to speak with Lord Stark. Though, you could probably help with that."

Eddard shifted in his chair, still wiping at Ethan's forehead. "What did you want to speak about, my lady?"

"You've met my son, Arthos, yes?" Ashara asked. Eddard nodded. He had spoken to the young boy before the Daynes went to bury Arthur. The boy seemed well-mannered and kind, though a bit sad given the circumstances. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was heading, but he let Ashara continue.

"Arthos' father is Brandon," she said, her voice taking a wistful tone. "Your brother and I met six years ago at Storm's End, during the tourney of Lord Steffon. We got to know each other and fell in love. Arthos was born later that year."

Eddard sighed, not at all surprised. He knew it just by looking at Arthos, the boy looked too much like Brandon. Their father always said the wolf's blood ran strong in Brandon, made him wild. He shook his head at the thought. "So, my brother sired a bastard."

"No," Ashara spoke up. "Brandon and I were married. Arthos is his trueborn son."

Eddard blinked in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed in anger and suspicion. "I find that hard to believe, my lady. Brandon was never very good at keeping secrets, I doubt he could hide something as big as being married. He was betrothed to Catelyn and never spoke up about already having a wife."

"She speaks the truth," Ethan interjected before going into a coughing fit. Eddard helped him sit up to drink some water. Once the coughing subsided Ethan cleared his throat and continued. "They married near the tourney's end, I was there as witness."

"It was a small ceremony in the godswood," Ashara said. "Brandon was adamant we follow the customs of the north. We had a maester there to preside and record our marriage. I'm sure he's written it in his personal notes in the Citadel."

Eddard was quiet as he tried to get his thoughts together. His mind was reeling from all the information he was being given. "Who else knew about this? How has this been kept secret for so long?"

Ashara explained how at Starfall, her brother Alric made sure most people refer to Arthos as Sand. The majority of Dorne know him as a bastard, with several guesses as to who his father was. The few who did know of his parentage were the Daynes, and Ashara's personal guards, whom she trusted with her life.

Ethan told him that only Brandon and their father, Lord Rickard, knew of the marriage. Rickard had already agreed on a deal with Hoster Tully to join their houses, so they kept Brandon's marriage a secret so as not to anger the riverlord and break their arrangement.

"Lord Rickard was in a bind," Ethan wheezed out. "The north was suffering a food shortage, and our people were starving. Our crops weren't growing, and our stores had been infested with rats. Hoster agreed to help us if your brother married his daughter. Your father didn't like the deal, Brandon said Rickard had other plans for him and the north, but he agreed to help our people."

"Lord Hoster would've taken it as a slight upon his house," Eddard concluded. "He would've stopped supplying the north."

Ethan nodded. "Brandon refused to break his marriage, so he and your father tried to find a solution for the food problem. They never made any progress, but Brandon seemed hopeful after Harrenhal."

"Yes, I noticed that as well." Eddard let out a heavy sigh as he leaned back on his chair, rubbing his face. He felt exhausted from all the information thrown at him. "This is all too much all at once. I need some time to process all of this."

"Of course." Ashara got up to leave the room. She stopped by the doorway and turned back to look at Eddard. "I trust you'll do the honorable thing, Lord Stark."

The door clicked shut and Eddard let out a groan. Ethan let out a chuckle that turned into a cough. Eddard glared at his brother's former squire, who just grinned at his uncomfortableness. Ethan winced as a felt a sharp pain from his wounds. He laid himself back down on the bed.

"So," Ethan said, glancing at his liege. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Eddard hesitated and Ethan rolled his eyes. "Come now, Ned. Humor the dying man."

Ned's lip twitched before he spoke up. "Honestly? I feel relieved and worried."

Ethan raised an eyebrow at that. Ned shifted in his chair before continuing. "When father and Brandon died, I was made Warden of the North. It's a position I never wanted, one that was never supposed to be mine. As Brandon's trueborn son and heir, Arthos is the rightful Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I'm relieved that I won't have to shoulder that responsibility, but I'm worried for Arthos. I don't know how the other northern lords will react to this development."

"He's a Stark, Ned, and you know that wherever the Starks go the north will follow. If you back his claim, they'll accept him as their liege. Though he might have to prove himself to a few of them. It's not like you would leave him to fend for himself, you're too honorable to do that."

Ethan reached up to place a hand on Ned's shoulder. "You made a promise to your sister. Now take the boy, as a promise to your brother. He'd want his son to be with his family."

Eddard was filled with sadness as he thought of his family. Then he nodded, his eyes hardened, shining with determination.

 _(Two days later)_

Eddard stood outside the gates of Starfall, fixing the saddle on his horse. William was already on his steed, while Howland was helping load up one of the carts with supplies. The second cart once again carried the covered body of Lyanna Stark, now joined by Ethan Glover. He died the night before they were to depart.

Behind him, Eddard heard the sound of footsteps and the nickering of a horse. The Stark turned around to see Arthos and his guard leading horses laden with several bags of their belongings. They stopped next to Eddard, who looked them over and gave a short nod.

"Ready then, boy?" Eddard asked.

Arthos nodded back. After some lengthy discussions, Eddard had agreed to take Arthos to Winterfell where he would be raised to take his rightful place as Warden of the North. Arthos didn't seem very enthusiastic about it, probably because Ashara couldn't join them. They had a heartfelt farewell the afternoon before they had to leave.

"I promise I'll see you soon," she had told Arthos as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I've just got some things to take care of before I do. I won't be long, though."

She handed her son a small ceremonial dagger, made of dragonglass. It had an ornate bronze handle of a wolf with a star in its mouth. She told him it was a gift from their friend in the east. Arthos held it tightly, before hugging his mother and heading to his room to pack up.

Now, Arthos whispered to his horse, which then promptly knelt down to let the boy climb onto its back. The boy's guard, Yorick of the greenblood, looked to be having trouble with his own steed.

Eddard climbed onto his horse and rode it next to Arthos. "We'll be making a stop at King's Landing and Riverrun on the way north. It's best for you to meet King Robert as soon as possible."

Arthos narrowed his eyes, looking out towards the direction of the capital. He turned back to see his mother in the gates, smiling sadly at his departure. The boy waved at Ashara, then turned back to his uncle with a hard stare. He urged his horse onwards, leaving the northmen to catch up. Eddard sighed at his nephew's sour mood.

 _King's Landing_

It took them a month to reach the capital. Arthos spent most of the journey getting to know his travelling companions. The short crannogman, Howland Reed, was a quiet man who often turned to Eddard for advice. It was obvious he greatly respected the Starks. The other man, William Dustin, was more boisterous but seemed to have lost some luster after losing an arm. He would often drink the Dornish wine they had brought from Starfall, though he didn't seem to like it very much. Arthos had sent Yorick ahead with the bodies of Lyanna and Ethan, so they could be laid to rest at their homes.

Then there was his uncle, Eddard Stark, the complete opposite of his loud and confident brother, Brandon. Arthos thought he seemed nice enough. The quiet wolf tried his best to talk to Arthos and teach him about the north and its people. Eddard would always take good care of the baby boy they had brought with them.

His bastard son, Jon Snow. The baby was as quiet as his father, rarely ever making a noise of complaint which the wet-nurse appreciated. Eddard obviously loved the boy, though Arthos noticed that his uncle always seemed to look at Jon but not see him, like he was thinking of someone else. Probably the boy's mother, Eddard must have loved her dearly.

Arthos wrinkled his nose as they entered the capital, it somehow smelled worse than he remembered it. Little Jon didn't enjoy it either. Arthos did his best to cover the baby's nose, to spare anymore of the stench. The entire city was still recovering from the war and the sacking they had suffered from the Lannister soldiers. The people walked with their heads low, giving the remaining red cloaks a wide berth.

Lord Dustin and Lord Reed, with the wet-nurse, split off to gather any remaining northmen in the city. They would meet in a week's time at the Dragon Gate to head north up the kingsroad. The Starks continued on to meet with the new king.

They made their way through the streets and into the Red Keep. Inside the Great Hall were several noble lords of the crownlands, swearing fealty to the new king, Robert Baratheon. The man had black hair and bright blue eyes, the beginnings of a full beard growing on his rugged face. He wore a dark red tunic with a crowned stag on the right breast.

Arthos did not know how to feel about the new king. His Uncle Ned had told him that he was a good man and friend, who would always have their backs. He's also a man who condoned the Lannister's brutal murder of Elia and her children. His uncle told him what Robert said when they found the dead bodies. _I see no babes, only dragonspawn._

The Stag King sat on the Iron Throne, looking bored and irritated at all the fanfare. When he saw the northmen coming into the Hall, he held up his hand and silenced everyone in the room. He ordered most of the lords to leave as he stepped down from the raised dais.

"Ned!" Robert grabbed Eddard by the shoulders and gave him a hug. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to see you as well, Robert," Ned smiled at his old friend.

As the two men embraced, Arthos' eyes wandered to the other people who were allowed to stay in the room. Standing at the foot of the throne were two men and a woman. The first was an older fellow, with broad shoulders, greying blonde hair, and blue eyes. He wore a green cloak over a blue and grey tunic. He smiled at the sight of Eddard and Robert embrace. Arthos recognized him as Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale. He'd seen him a few times at Harrenhal.

The second man was tall and slender, with bushy golden side whiskers, and green eyes with flecks of gold. He wore a red tunic lined in gold, with a roaring lion on the left breast. He watched the scene with an impassive face. Arthos narrowed his eyes at the Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister. The woman next to him was obviously his daughter, Cersei. The golden-haired woman, wearing a bright gold dress, looked down at the northerners with an obvious expression of disdain on her face.

Robert stepped back from his brother in all but blood and looked behind him, searching for something. "Where's Lyanna?"

Eddard's smile fell and he shook his head as he looked at Robert with a solemn expression. "We were too late. She didn't make it, she passed from a fever."

There was a bead of silence, before Robert processed Eddard's words. The instant it did, the king's eyes burned with fury. He exploded into an incoherent rage, cursing the Targaryens.

"Damn dragons! I'll have all their heads!" Robert took a deep calming breath. The hall was silent for a moment as the king's temper cooled down, though everyone could still see the urge to kill anything that was even remotely tied to the Targaryen legacy. It was several moments more before Robert finally calmed down. Everyone was still cautious though. No one wanted to anger the demon of the Trident.

Arthos' hands shook with anger at the king's words. He looked at the foot of the throne where he could still see a few fading bloodstains where the bodies of Elia and her children were presented. He let out an incensed huff, which caught Robert's attention. The king regarded him with confusion for several seconds before turning to Ned. "And who is this little shit?"

Robert stared at Arthos more until his eyes widened in shock. "By the gods, he looks exactly like Brandon!"

Arthos could feel everyone's eyes on him. Arthos felt uncomfortable but refused to show it, doing his best not to fidget in place. He looked up as Ned placed a hand on his shoulder. His uncle smiled at him then turned to the king.

"This is Brandon's trueborn son with Ashara Dayne, Arthos Stark the heir to Winterfell." Eddard proclaimed as he nudged Arthos forward. The boy stood straight as Eddard continued to speak, his eyes meeting everyone's in front of him. "They had secretly wed during your father's tourney, my king. Before he was betrothed to Catelyn."

Jon Arryn stepped forward. "Do you have proof of this, Ned?"

Eddard nodded and told them of Ethan Glover's testimony and that a maester's record could be found somewhere in the Citadel. Robert let out a bellowing laugh. "He wasn't called the Wild Wolf for nothing." he said in a fond tone.

"Lord Hoster will not be happy about this," Jon Arryn spoke up, looking wary.

"Let the old trout stew on it," Robert growled. "He held us back at the Twins too long and is getting what he justly deserves. If he has a problem with it, he is welcome to come here. I'll show him the demon of the Trident!"

"I'll handle Hoster," Eddard assured. Robert gave him a nod. The king noticed the baby boy in Arthos' arms and chuckled. "Is that one Brandon's as well," the king said in a joking tone.

Arthos felt the hand on his shoulder stiffen. He looked at his uncle who seemed to be steeling himself to say something. "He is my bastard, Jon Snow. His mother passed away and I intend to raise him."

There were different reactions all around. Cersei wrinkled her nose in disgust. Tywin was still hard to read. Jon Arryn looked somewhere between amused and slighted that a bastard was named after him. Robert just laughed harder than before.

"The honorable Ned Stark sired a bastard!" He boomed. Everyone in the room could tell his words were all in good humor. After a while, Robert sighed and placed a hand on Eddard's shoulder. The king looked more serious than he had all day.

"I won't lie, Ned," he said. "The North has suffered much more than any other in Westeros.

"That's why, as one of my first decrees as king, I'm giving you three million gold dragons to order the rebuilding of Moat Cailin. It's not much, considering what you've lost, but I don't want the North to be caught unawares again."

The king placed both hands on his friend's shoulders. "I want you close, Ned, should I need to call on you. I'm sure Brandon's boy won't mind allowing you the moat." Robert looked pointedly at Arthos, who stared back for a few seconds before turning to smile at his uncle, giving a small nod. Eddard looked flabbergasted as he looked between his nephew and his friend. "Make your pack numerous again," Robert said with a smile.

Jon Arryn looked exasperated, rubbing his eyes at the two men he had fostered. "Robert, I don't think-"

Robert cut him off with a raise of his hand. "Jon, I am king. My word is law! You will make sure Ned gets the gold and that's final."

Jon sighed, but nodded his assent. Eddard came out of his daze enough to thank his friend, before being led away from the Hall. The Starks then made their way to the guest's rooms in the Red Keep to rest.

Later that night, Arthos stared silently out the window of his room. The sky was dotted with stars, the glow of the city's firelights casting an orange hue to the dark night. From this distance, the boy could see the waters of Blackwater Bay, and the many ships coming in and out of port.

The boy unsheathed his dragonglass dagger, twisting it around. It was an extremely sharp blade, but rather brittle. He doubted it would last long in extended combat, especially against heavy-armored opponents. Arthos knew it wasn't given as a weapon to be used, though it could be, but as a container. The young Stark pressed down on the star on the pommel, dislodging the blade and revealing a note inside the handle.

Arthos unfurled the letter. He hadn't had a moment alone to read it before. It was written by Symon, one of his mother's personal guards. He'd stayed behind at King's Landing, and they hadn't heard from him since. This came with the dagger shortly after the Sack of King's Landing. It was written in his messy scrawl, nearly unreadable.

 _Nys is safe, Egg is gone._

 _Sailing our way to_

 _the bastard daughter._

 _Will contact once on shore._

The young lord placed the note back inside the dagger and reattached the blade, letting out a relieved sigh. He stared out to the east with purpose, making a silent promise. One day he'd make his way east and find them. One day he'd make the Seven Kingdoms a safe place for her once more, or the North at the very least.

He could still remember the last time he saw her. Her face was streaked with tears as she cried out for him. He wanted to go back for her, but he was forced away. He nearly lost her again during the war, but now she was safe but even further away.

His eyes hardened as he gripped the dagger hard. _I'll bring you home, just you wait. I'm not losing my wise girl again._

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **So, Percy/Arthos meets Eddard, Robert, and many more. He's currently feeling extremely conflicted with everyone, and everything that's happened. His father was killed by Targaryens, his uncle Artur was killed by his other uncle Ned. His mother sent him off with Ned, Ned's now taking care of him, the new king is best friends with Ned and also wants to kill his wise girl and any other dragons. Everything's a mess. Let's see where this goes then.**_

 _ **A lot of people were asking for longer chapters, so here's my attempt at that. Took a while since I had to make an impromptu trip out of the city to help sell some zines. Had no internet connection for a few days. I was quite surprised with how many more follows this gained while I was away. It's actually quite intimidating. I hope I don't disappoint you all.**_

 _ **Thank you to Stormwreckin for the helpful review and suggestions. Preston Jacobs has been rather helpful.**_

 _ **Hope you all enjoy the chapter! I feel like I've made a mess of it.**_


	9. Walking Home

_Riverrun, Riverlands (283 A.C.)_

The northerners stayed in King's Landing until the end of the week, as planned.

The Starks moved out of the Keep to help gather the northern troops scattered around the city. They camped out on the outskirts until they were set to leave. Eddard sent a raven to Winterfell to inform his brother, Benjen, to send some builders and masons to rebuild Moat Cailin. The Stark treasury would have to field the costs for some time, while Ned travelled back north with the gold given by Robert.

Most of the men stuck near the camp, like Lord Howland who could not stand the smell of the city. Lord Dustin spent some time, and gold, at the harbor buying some wine with the funds he'd looted during the war. He bought several casks of Arbor gold and other vintages from the Free Cities. They taste better than Dornish reds, according to him.

"These are all for my wife, of course," he said. "She hates Dornish red."

Arthos totally believed him.

The northerners were all gathered and prepared to leave two days early, but were delayed with the gathering of the promised coin. During that time, Arthos had taken to wandering around the city. Eddard had assigned him some loyal Starkmen to guard him. The young lord was annoyed, but didn't argue it since to the rest of the world he was still a child.

His favorite place to visit was the harbor, where he could feel the power of the sea and hear news from the eastern continent. He hadn't heard much except that Jon Connington had joined a sellsword company in the Disputed Lands. Arthos didn't care much about it, though he vaguely remembered seeing the man from Harrenhal. All he recalls was he had red hair.

Once the gold was collected and the supplies were restocked, the northerners marched out of the capital. A caravan of nearly five hundred northerners, men and women with carts of loot and supplies marching their way home. They made their way north from the kingsroad, and once they reached the Trident, made a detour west down the River Road to Riverrun.

The journey took two weeks of marching and riding through the fields. During that time, Arthos did his best to learn more about the north from his uncle, and spent time with little Jon. The baby always either gurgled happily or fell asleep in his arms.

Arthos also used the time to train with some of the men. He even practiced some hunting, and was happy to know that his uselessness with a bow did not follow him to this life. He wasn't the best, but at least he was proficient now.

Arthos saw the castle leagues before they reached it. Though not the most imposing of forts, up close it was much more impressive. Its sheer sandstone walls loomed from the rivers surrounding it. Guards walked along its crenelated battlements, keeping watch over the surrounding plains. The castle's heavy redwood doors opened up and they marched in, while the bulk of their troupe camped outside the fort.

They were greeted with cheers by the inhabitants of the castle, for their efforts in Robert's Rebellion. A noble lady with long auburn hair approached Eddard, a relieved smile on her face and a small babe in her arms. Arthos learned she was Catelyn Tully, now Stark, and the boy was Eddard's son. "I named him, Robb. After our new king."

Eddard had a strained smile on his face, obviously thinking of Jon. He remained silent as Catelyn led them through the castle. Lord Hoster Tully was informed ahead of time of their arrival and had prepared a feast for them. They made their way into the great hall, where tables laden with food were set.

A portly man with brown hair streaked with grey sat at the end of the hall. Hoster Tully watched the northern lords file in, a happy smile on his face. A long table filled with food was placed in front of them, with empty seats on both sides of the man. He stood up from his high seat and opened his arms in welcome.

Eddard was assigned to Hoster's right, while Arthos sat to his uncle's right. Lord Tully glanced at him with confusion, but ignored him for most of the feast which was fine for Arthos. They ate and drank through the night.

Arthos was glad for the food, having grown tired of the stale bread, dried meat, or the occasional rabbit he'd managed to hunt. He spent the feast with Hoster's young son and heir, Edmure. Arthos found the boy was quite hot-headed and tactless, but his heart was in the right place.

The night came and went, and the next morning Arthos spent training in the courtyard with some of his assigned guards. He'd practiced swords with Elis and Barty, which was a brutal affair for all of them. Arthos had regained some of his prowess with the blade, though he still felt a little off-balance and easily winded with his young body.

Arthos also spent time with Denys, who was training him with the bow. Denys was an excellent teacher, and Arthos found he quite enjoyed archery when he wasn't being totally useless. It was during this time that Arthos was approached by Eddard, who came with his wife and Lord Tully.

The young Stark kept focus on the target, arrow nocked, even as his uncle cleared his throat. Arthos released and hit the target, hitting it seven inches from the center. Not a perfect bullseye, but a hit nonetheless. He lowered his bow and sighed, turning to his uncle.

"Arthos," Eddard greeted, glancing meaningfully at his wife and father-in-law. "I'd like to introduce you to Lord Hoster and Lady Catelyn."

Arthos looked at them as well. Hoster looked confused and bored, wondering why he was there with a strange young boy. Lady Catelyn looked incensed. She stared at Arthos with suspicion. After the feast, Arthos had overheard the aftermath of Eddard telling Catelyn about Jon. It had not been a quiet evening.

"A pleasure to meet you Lord Tully," Arthos bowed. He turned to Catelyn and was struck with an ingenious idea. He smirked slightly as he also bowed to the lady. "And you as well, Aunt Catelyn."

Arthos felt his respect for them rise a little, as they quickly deduced what he meant from his words. Hoster's eyes widened then narrowed, wondering if the boy would be a dent in his plans. Catelyn looked shocked, angry, and then hurt. Arthos could tell that she was vexed that both Stark brothers had gone and sired sons with other women.

Both of them turned to Eddard, who stood firm under their questioning glares. Eddard gave his nephew an exasperated look. Arthos just gave him a cheeky smile as he went back to practicing with Denys. He stayed near enough that he could hear their discussion.

"So, the Wild Wolf had a bastard as well," Catelyn said with hurt. "It seems you have more in common with your brother than I thought."

"He's not a bastard," Eddard said, Arthos could hear the shame his uncle felt at having caused his wife pain. The boy nocked another arrow as his uncle continued to speak. "He's the trueborn son of Brandon and Ashara, they were married before his betrothal to you."

Hoster snorted. "Let me guess, the boy's mother told you this? Why would you believe the words of some Dornish whore? Don't you-?"

Arthos loosed his arrow with such force, his bow shattered, splintering in his hands. The arrow sailed beyond the target, embedding itself deep in one of the castle's walls. He turned to the riverlord with a cold hard glare, chilling everyone to the bone. Arthos later learned that he'd managed to make the temperature around him drop in his anger.

He continued to silently stare daggers at the old trout even as his uncle stepped between them, his own black look on his face. "My brother's own squire has confirmed Lady Ashara's claims. It doesn't matter if you don't believe it, my lord. I do, and so does the king. In the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, Arthos is the legitimate heir to Winterfell, and Warden of the North."

Hoster was visibly seething, but held his tongue. He gave Arthos a mean look, one the boy returned twice as hard. Hoster winced and stalked off. Denys gave Arthos a replacement bow, while Eddard turned to Catelyn expecting an outburst as well. She scoffed before walking away. "Pardon me, my lords, I must go and check on Robb."

"That could've gone better," Eddard sighed as he turned to his nephew with a frown. "You could have let me ease the information for them instead of dropping it on them like that."

"It wouldn't have been as entertaining," Arthos smirked, another arrow nocked. He let loose, nailing the target off-center again. He sighed and turned to his uncle. "I always found it better to deliver bad news as soon as possible. Better to give a quick, painless death than to drag it out They'll get over it sooner."

Eddard studied the boy. "You're a lot smarter than people your age. I have met lords with less wit about than you do."

"I take after my mother," Arthos replied with fondness as he handed Denys his bow and quiver. The young lord made to walk away, but Eddard placed a hand on his shoulder. Arthos turned to his uncle with a questioning look.

"You best be prepared, nephew," said the Quiet Wolf. "You'll be facing many more challenges like Lord Hoster. The Starks are well respected by many of the houses in the North. You'll find loyalty in several, like Houses Mormont, Manderly, Umber, Glover and the Karstarks. However, like all Great Houses, there are those who would gladly work against us, like House Bolton.

"In either case, you will need to show them your strength. The North will not follow a weak leader, whether he be Stark or not. I'll be ruling as your regent until you reach maturity, but it would be best if you earned the northern lords' respect as soon as possible."

Eddard gave his nephew a stern look before leading him away from the courtyard. "When we reach Winterfell, you will attend lessons with Maester Luwin for three hours every day. He will teach you all you need to learn about governing over the North. At the end of each day, you will come to me and tell me what you've learned. You will also be training with Ser Rodrik every day for two hours, an hour before supper."

They stopped in front of the doors into the great hall. Eddard turned to face Arthos, a small smile on his face. "Do well, and any plans you have for the north I will support. I have high hopes that you'll bring power and prosperity to our people."

Arthos smiled back, amused and nervous. His uncle was becoming more of a stern father-figure now that he has three young boys to raise. The young lord felt rather apprehensive at the thought of governing an entire region of a kingdom, but he nodded to his uncle anyway.

He would do what he could to make the North safe for his loved ones.

 _Moat Cailin, the Neck_

After Arthos' parentage and legitimacy were revealed, their interactions with the Tully's was less welcoming. Hoster had taken to subtly insulting young Arthos, which the young wolf always turned around on the fat trout. Lord Tully had forbidden Edmure from socializing with the Dornish bastard, which was fine with Arthos.

Hoster also did his best to convince Eddard to set aside his nephew and take the north for himself. Those instances never ended well, often ending in loud shouting and once with fists flying. Eventually, the riverlord would give up and just go insult Arthos.

 _Picking on a child_ , Arthos thought derisively. _How mature of you._

They left soon afterwards, taking Catelyn and baby Robb with them. Catelyn did her best to avoid and ignore both Arthos and baby Jon, often hiding herself away with her son. Arthos didn't think Catelyn actually hated him, unlike Jon. His aunt seemed more hurt and insulted at the sight of him, and he could understand why. His father had chosen another woman over her. Though it happened long before Brandon and Catelyn met, it still hurt her.

They marched up the kingsroad, passing through the Twins where they had to pay a toll to the Freys which Arthos found annoying. When they entered the swamps of the Neck, Lord Reed and the rest of the crannogmen separated from the caravan, wading through the murky water and heading to their homes.

Arthos would miss the Lord of Greywater Watch and his tall tales of the crannogmen of the Neck. The rest of the northmen marched up the causeway, heading for the Moat where they would take a short break.

When they reached the broken and rotting castle, they found several builders and stonemasons already starting the rebuilding process. They camped outside the gatehouse, piles of stone and lumber neatly placed around the building. The northerners set up inside the Gatehouse Tower, with some camping with the builders. Lord Dustin and some men took the Drunkard's Tower, which Arthos thought was apt considering.

Eddard spoke to the head builder, a burly man with thick, curly hair named Ingvar. The man told them the construction would be completed close to eight years with all the towers, but it would be livable by five, with enough room for three hundred people.

"It will take time to rebuild the rest of the walls and towers," Ingvar explained in a gruff voice. "But we'll have the Moat back to its former glory soon enough, milord."

Arthos left them to talk about the specifics of the construction requirements, wandering off with his guards. He walked around the ruins, greeting the men and women travelling with them as he passed. Those who were outside were gathered around campfires to keep warm in the night. He spied Lady Catelyn standing at the edge of the causeway, the Children's Tower looming behind her.

Arthos dismissed his guards and walked towards her, stopping to stand at her side. Catelyn did not turn to look at him, but he saw the way her shoulders tensed at his approach. They were both silent, looking over the wetlands of the Neck. The climate was warm, but the wind was getting chillier now as they entered the northern territories.

"I've never been this far north," Arthos suddenly said. "I lived as far south as Westeros goes, but I've always been told that I was born for the north."

"Can I help you with something, my lord?" Catelyn asked after some silence, her voice strained. Arthos turned to his aunt, who still refused to look at him. Her expression was stony, eyes puffy and red.

Arthos gave her a sad smile. "I'm just looking out for my family. I don't have a lot of those at the moment. I've been called a Sand for most of my life. Now I'm a Stark, like you. It's a new experience for both of us."

The young lord picked up a small stone, tossing it up and catching it. He skipped it across the swamp, hitting a small lizard-lion which immediately swam away. "I know things aren't the brightest for you right now, but things will get better. You just have to give it some time."

Catelyn watched him continue skipping stones, before letting out a breath. Her shoulders sagged, and her expression softened slightly. She gave her nephew a hesitant look before excusing herself to check on Robb.

She stopped several feet away, looking back at Arthos who was watching her with sympathy. "Thank you," she whispered quietly, the wind carrying her voice. Arthos smiled and nodded, turning away as she continued to wander off.

Standing alone by the edge of the swamp, Arthos looked around to see if anyone could see him. When he saw no one could, Arthos kneeled down and entered the murky water, holding out his hands and keeping himself dry. He let his senses travel through the mire, identifying trees and vines, and critters all around. He reached out further and deeper, searching for something.

The boy thought back to a conversation he had with Lord Reed, before they went their separate ways. Arthos had been thinking about his plan to cultivate the lands of the north using his blessing from Pan. The problem was that his nature magic was rather weak, his blessing of fertility lasting only a week before needing to be recast.

He'd managed to place a permanent blessing on his garden in Starfall, but that took an entire year of constant casting. That wouldn't be very smart or effective to use for the north, it would take too long. He needed a better solution. Then Lord Reed told him about the children of the forest, probably the greatest users of nature magic.

 _"They called upon the old gods," Lord Reed said reverently. "And the hammer of the waters came done upon the Arm of Dorne, shattering it. They tried to do the same to the Neck, but only managed to flood it. No one knows why, the knowledge of their magic has long been lost to time."_

Arthos decided to see if he could find that lost knowledge. He could feel something several hundred feet away, deep in the muck. It was small, but resonated with faint power. It clung hard to the bottom, resisting as he called it forth from the water. Something rippled far away, surging towards him at high speed. It slowed down and gently placed itself in his hand.

It was a large, flat black stone, round and smooth about half a foot in diameter and an inch thick. Carved upon its face were old runes of the First Men, faded from centuries under the muck. It was barely legible, but Arthos was surprised to find he could understand it.

Arthos stepped out of the water with the stone, back onto the causeway. From a small pouch, he pulled out a journal and some writing implements he'd bought from the capital. He sat down at the causeway and copied the runes, writing down the rough translations beneath it.

 _Heed... your childr..._

 _Rend… e earth..._

 _bring down... wrath..._

 _Wildmother... r our plea..._

Arthos let the ink dry before closing his journal. He stared at the stone, running his finger over the faded runes with a thoughtful expression. It's not what he'd been hoping to find, but it's a good sign. It seemed the children of the forest could imbue objects with their magic using runes, though he still didn't know why they failed to break the Neck. This was very helpful information.

 _Wildmother_ , he mused. _I thought the old gods were nameless?_

He'd have to find out more. He looked at the stone for a few seconds, noticing how the swamp water seemed to reach out for it. Arthos raised it up and threw it back into the water, strangely dropping in without a splash or a ripple.

Arthos fixed up his stuff, sighing at the thought of doing more research. He made his way back to the gatehouse for some well-earned rest.

They stayed at Moat Cailin for two days before continuing on. Lord Dustin took his men and rode on once they reached the barrowlands, giving Arthos a parting gift: a small cask of Arbor gold. Arthos handed it to his uncle, not being much of a drinker. It's hard to get drunk as a son of Poseidon, though he's not sure if his tolerance is still the same in this life. He'd rather not test it just yet.

As they marched on, Arthos' eyes wandered to his companions. To his right were his aunt and uncle, finally speaking to each other though they were still a bit awkward. Catelyn carried little Robb on a papoose strapped to her front. To Arthos' left and back a bit were his guards and a wet-nurse, cradling Jon as well.

They travelled with their now much smaller host of northmen, all tired and eager to reach home. As they crested a small hill, Arthos could see a large structure in the distance.

It was a grand castle, with towering walls lined with several guard turrets. Arthos could spot a few men patrolling at the top. Outside its granite walls was a large town that looked rather empty, but Arthos espied some smallfolk coming in from several directions. Arthos pulled on his horse's reins, stopping at the top of the hill to stare in awe at the great castle of Winterfell.

He saw that his Aunt Catelyn was also awestruck. Eddard led his horse closer to them, noticing their reactions. He gave his wife and nephew a smile, nodding towards the castle.

"Welcome home," he said.

 _ **A/N: And we finally reach Winterfell. Arthos tries to be close with Catelyn with partial success, he learns a few things about the children's nature magic, and now he's about to face more challenges in the North. Yay!**_

 _ **To those who are confused, yes Rhaenys is Annabeth. Not everyone reborn in Westeros will look the same as they did before. Percy has the same face, but different eyes. Annabeth has different hair and skin.**_

 _ **Guest:Matt: I'll put up a list on my profile.**_

 _ **Hope you liked the chapter!**_


	10. A Grand Beginning

_Winterfell, the North (283)_

Arthos stood on the outer walls of Winterfell, looking out at the small winter town. It had been three moons since their arrival at Winterfell, and no day has been uneventful for Arthos.

When they arrived, they rode quietly through winter town, taking in the sights before them. The smallfolk gaped and pointed at them in awe, some at the returning men but mostly at Arthos. It seemed Ned had sent word about him to the north and now the news had spread. Perhaps this was why the town was filling up a long way from wintertime, people wanted to see their new liege lord.

Arthos felt uncomfortable with so many eyes on him, but he'd learned long ago how to hide it. No one liked to see their leader looking weak or nervous. He clenched his jaw and urged his mount to the head of the procession, next to his uncle. Ned glanced sideways at him and gave a small nod of approval. The smallfolk let them pass, standing at the sidelines and whispering amongst themselves about the young Lord Stark. Arthos ignored them and continued on.

They entered the castle through the east gate, where they were greeted by a young man. He was very thin, and had rather long hair and shining blue eyes. The man smiled at the sight of Ned, and waited patiently for everyone to dismount. Servants came to take their horses to the stables and take their luggage to their respective rooms.

Catelyn and Jon's wet-nurse followed them in, both exhausted from the trip. Catelyn narrowed her eyes at Jon, as she clutched her own son tightly against her. Arthos frowned at the sight. He hoped she would grow to love Jon as well someday, but perhaps that was too much to ask. Arthos turned back to his uncle and the man at the entrance.

The blue-eyed man approached Ned and gave him a big hug, which was returned just as fiercely. "Welcome home, Ned," the man said. "It's good to see you again."

Ned broke their embrace, placing his hands on the man's shoulders. "It's good to be back, little brother. Thank you for keeping our home safe."

"I literally did nothing, Ned. It's you, and the rest of those who fought in the war, who kept us safe."

Ned smiled and gestured to Arthos, who had stepped up to Ned's side. "Ben, I'd like you to meet Arthos."

Arthos looked at the man, Benjen Stark, his uncle. Benjen's eyes shined with hurt and glee. He let out a shaky breath. "You look just like your father. Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Arthos."

Benjen outstretched his hand, which Arthos shook after a second. Benjen led them inside, asking about their journey and telling them of what happened during his short tenure as Lord of Winterfell. Mostly, he had to deal with bandits who were taking advantage of the war to pillage across the kingdoms.

They made their way to the Great Keep, trading stories and getting to know each other. Arthos found Benjen to be quite good company. He liked to crack really bad jokes and laughed a lot, though Arthos thought Benjen seemed sadder than he let on.

The next few days passed by relatively uneventful. The smallfolk littered around outside the walls eventually went back to their homes, though some of them decided to stay permanently in winter town. Ned and Benjen eventually visited the crypts together, to pay their respects to their family. Ned had asked Benjen to have statues of their siblings made alongside their father, which was unprecedented since statues were only for the lords of Winterfell.

During one of those visits, Arthos explored the First Keep while his uncles went underground. It was the oldest part of Winterfell, and one of the largest structures inside the castle. It was abandoned, which Arthos thought was a waste; it was a lot of unused space.

Looking out from the top of the keep, Arthos saw Ned exit the crypts closely followed by Benjen. They seemed to be arguing, though Arthos couldn't hear them from up so high. Benjen was gesturing vehemently, while Ned was looking betrayed. Ned said a few words before walking off, leaving Benjen who kicked the dirt in frustration. Arthos later learned from Maester Luwin that Benjen planned to join the Night's Watch. Obviously, Ned was against the idea and wanted his brother to stay, but Benjen seemed to be dead set to take the black.

Supper was a quiet affair, with Benjen and Ned refusing to acknowledge each other. Benjen excused himself early, walking off with a huff when Ned remained silent. Arthos finished his meal quickly and followed Benjen out of the Great Hall.

Arthos found him an hour later in the stables, saddling a horse solemnly. The mare whinnied in irritation when Benjen pulled too tight on the straps. There were several sacks along the horse's flanks, possibly supplies for a long journey. Benjen hadn't noticed his nephew, too engrossed in his own thoughts as he prepared his steed.

Arthos leaned on the doorframe and cleared his throat, making Benjen jump and turn to look at him. Benjen huffed at his nephew and continued to saddle his horse. "Did Ned send you to change my mind, Arthos?"

"I'm the Lord of Winterfell," Arthos said with a smirk. "I go where I please, as you well know."

"Aye, that you do." Benjen let out a chuckle, but the smile quickly faded from his face. "You know where I'm going, yes? Have you come to stop me?"

"I do, and no I'm not." Arthos pushed himself off the wood frame and approached his uncle. Benjen stepped back as his horse lowered itself so Arthos could reach. The young lord loosened the strap, making the horse shake its head in approval. Arthos gave the mare a little pat as it stood up again. He turned to his uncle, giving him a stern look. "I would like to know why you decided to take the black, though."

Benjen stared at the ground for a long time. He seemed to be struggling with himself, weighing his words with caution. "I'm seeking penance for my mistakes. There are some things that I've done and things I _didn't_ do, that have caused much grief. I must atone for my actions and silence."

"And what, pray tell, are these misdeeds you seek atonement for?"

Benjen remained silent and it seemed he would remain that way. Arthos sighed and was going to let it go, until Benjen spoke up again. "I knew something. It could've prevented the war, if I had spoken up. Now thousands are dead, and Lyanna..."

"It has something to do with her, this secret of yours?"

His stillness was telling for Arthos. A memory comes unbidden to Arthos mind, the wolf and dragon in a garden. He looks into his uncle's eyes, thinking deeply before deciding to take a chance. "Rhaegar and Lyanna.. They were in love."

Benjen's face paled in shock. He shushed his nephew, turning to look at their surroundings to see if anyone heard. He pulled Arthos closer, staring at him intensely. "How do you know that?"

"I saw them in the gardens of Harrenhal, the night before the final tilt. The prince promised to win the joust for her. I didn't tell anyone, thinking it was just a simple affair that wouldn't lead anywhere. I was wrong."

Benjen had a pained expression on his face. He started telling Arthos his side of the story. Growing up, Benjen's brothers were both fostered far away from home. He only had Lyanna with him, and so they became quite close. He always followed her lead, always looking to please his older sister.

During the tourney at Harrenhal, Lyanna saved Howland Reed from being beaten by several squires. Arthos remembered seeing them walk away after his aunt had chased the squires off. The Stark siblings kept Howland close throughout the rest of the day, even offering to fight for his honor or give him some armaments to fight for his own.

When it was clear Howland wouldn't fight, Lyanna took it upon herself to "educate" those squires. She had always been an exceptional rider. Benjen had helped procure her a horse, and some armor that would hide her identity. Together they painted the shield Lyanna would use in the jousts with a smiling weirwood.

"The Knight of the Laughing Tree," Arthos whispered, eyes wide in realization.

Benjen nodded. "We didn't think there would be any fuss over our actions. The knights she fought weren't well known, and their squires less so. We thought no one would notice if the mystery knight disappeared afterwards, but Aerys did."

Arthos winced, remembering the Mad King's reaction. Aerys had sent out all his men on a full-on manhunt for the mystery knight, but found nothing except their shield.

Benjen said that was all Rhaegar needed. They were lying low in their tent when the prince had found them, specifically Benjen. The armorer Benjen took the shield from recognized it and led the prince to him. Rhaegar was about to take Benjen away when Lyanna confessed that it was she. They thought they were going to be punished, but Rhaegar lied for them.

"I thought that was it," Benjen said hoarsely. "But he kept coming back to visit Lyanna. At first, they were just friendly. Lyanna'd earned the prince's respect, but soon enough it became more."

"Have you told Ned about this?"

Benjen shook his head. "Then what reason did you give him for wanting to join the Night's Watch?" Arthos asked.

"I told Ned I wanted to make a name for myself."

Arthos winced. "No wonder he's mad at you. His last sibling wanted to leave for personal glory."

Benjen looked shameful. "When you say it like that…"

"You should tell him. If you still want to go, at least tell him the truth. He'll understand."

Benjen hesitated before letting out a huge sigh, his shoulders sagging. "You're right, Arthos. Ned deserves the truth." Arthos smiled as he led his uncle to Ned's room, hoping to have them talk it out. When Ned forgave Benjen, maybe Benjen would decide not to leave.

Arthos did _not_ expect a bigger secret to be dropped on him.

Needless to say, in the end Benjen decided to remain in Winterfell. Arthos rubbed his temples in annoyance, the memory of that night was quite a headache for him. Too much information crammed into his head at such a short amount of time. He stared out at the distance, spotting a few riders approaching, banners raised high and waving in the cold winds.

Arthos straightened and made his way down and inside the castle, preparing to greet his guests and thinking back on his plans.

The next few weeks after the "Night of Revelations", as Arthos called it, were a little tiresome. The young Stark spent most of his time studying and training. Lessons with Maester Luwin were mostly alright, but it could get quite dull. Training was great though, Ser Rodrik was an excellent teacher. Though, there was only so much swordplay he could relearn before it got too repetitive.

When Arthos was shown a map of the North during one of his lessons, Arthos saw that they only had one road across their lands; the kingsroad, which lead south to the capital and north to the Wall. Arthos had approached Ned about constructing better roads for the North. Their lack of any other proper roads was a hassle. Arthos wanted to make travel across the land easier for the northerners.

It wasn't so simple though. Eddard told his nephew that the North was too vast and too poor. They didn't have enough funds to afford the construction and maintenance of such a large road network. With bandits to the south, and raiders from the north and the surrounding seas, they also didn't have the manpower to spare for building and protecting the roads either.

Arthos was stumped for several days not knowing what to do, until a miracle happened.

While idly walking around his solar, Arthos found himself staring at the painting behind his desk. It was an old portrait of a direwolf, the symbol of House Stark. The snow-white mountain backdrop glowed as it reflected the sunlight from the window Ned told him the painting had been on that wall for centuries, and Arthos could see chips in the paint.

He'd heard rumors that the lords of Winterfell had hidden something behind the painting, though when Arthos investigated it he only found the wall it was hanging on. He'd felt around for a false brick, a secret panel, anything. It was just a wall. The boy lord pouted at the painting, disappointed that it didn't hide any juicy secrets. His eyes travelled down to the writing at the bottom frame. The inscription read, _I Show the Way._

He looked back at the painting. The wolf seemed to stare at him as it posed on a snowy hill, one paw outstretched. It seemed to be pointing at something.

Arthos' eyes narrowed slightly in thought. He stepped closer to the painting, seeing dust floating in the rays of the morning sun. His eyes followed the direction of the wolf's paw; it was pointing at the bookcase to its right. He was confused until he noticed dust drifting into a thin gap, nearly undetectable, on the wall where the bookcase stood. There was something behind it.

Arthos tried moving the bookcase, but found it was stuck to the wall. He inspected it closer, running a hand down the bookcase's side. As he reached the bottom, he felt a small wooden panel on the underside that seemed different. He pressed down on it and heard a small click.

The bookcase shifted and he heard the grinding of stone. He stood up and took a step back as the bookcase swung outwards, slowly. Arthos felt excited, he'd found a secret door! It opened to a small hallway that led to a large, windowless room, directly behind the painting. The air was stuffy and filled with dust from the lack of filtration.

With the amount of dust and cobwebs in the room, it would seem no one had entered it in a year at least, Arthos guessed. He covered his nose and mouth, brandishing the candle in the darkness. He could make out several shelves, filled with books and maps. There was a small table at the far end, with a dusty journal and an inkwell next to it. A quill was lying on the floor.

Arthos picked up the journal, wiping away the dust and opening it. It was hard to see in the dim candlelight, but the words were still legible. The letters were written in clean, wavy strokes.

 _The maester tells me Benjen is doing well in his studies, though Lyanna is being troublesome. She's much more focused on horse riding and learning to swing a sword. She'd make a fine warrior one day, but the family needs a lady. On another note, Jon Arryn writes that Eddard is growing to be an impeccable man. This makes me proud._

 _Brandon and Lyanna. My children are going to be the death of me, but I have more pressing concerns to deal with. Wildlings raided the Last Hearth again, and made off with Mors Umber's daughter. The Glovers and Boltons are having another dispute over their bannermen, and the ironwood trees. I'll have to address these as soon as I can._

Arthos was pleasantly surprised. It was his grandfather's personal notes. He flipped through the pages, turning to one of the last entries.

 _Things are not going well in the North. The crop yield is low, the food stores are infested, and people are starving. If this goes on any longer, I don't know if we'll last when Winter comes._

 _I smell treachery from these events, but I don't know from who. The leech lord is a possibility, he and his own have always been scheming against my family. The Reach and the riverlands could also be responsible, having grown rich from our hunger and desperation for centuries._

 _I'll have to push back the mining in the mountains. Our treasury has been depleted. We can't afford the costs of labor from such a large operation and to feed our people at the same time. Food is more important right now. Once we've secured enough to survive, I'll have to speak to the mountain lords about my plans, convince them. The gold deposits will be able to help then._

Arthos was shocked. _There was gold in the North?_ He brought the book back down to the solar so he can read it in better light. He closed the secret door and sat down at his table, perusing through his grandfather's notes.

It seemed Rickard Stark had sent several surveyors around the northern mountains, where they found untapped gold, silver, and iron deposits. They had never been mined, since the mountain clans didn't have much use for them, aside from the iron. Though they rarely forged their own weapons, often crafting them from stone and wood or looting them from their enemies.

The surveyors also discovered jewels in the Lonely Hills. The journal said there were maps with the directions to these mining locations in his secret room. Arthos went back and pulled out several maps from the desk and walls, bringing them out into the solar.

This is what I needed, Arthos thought as he found the right map. It had several markings where the mineral deposits were. Once the gold was mined, he could use it to finance his projects, but first he'd have to build the mines. In order to do that, he'd have to talk to the chiefs of the hill tribes. It would be his first time actually handling political affairs.

Arthos took a deep breath, excitement in his eyes. He had a lot of work to do.

He had shown Ned and Benjen their father's discoveries and immediately sent envoys to the hill tribes, inviting them to Winterfell for a discussion. They had returned swiftly, reporting that the mountain clans would discuss among themselves and send emissaries in a one moon's time. Which was today.

The young Stark walked along the courtyard, nodding at Ser Rodrik as he trained some of the household guards. He spotted several cooks making their way from the kitchen into the Great Hall, carrying food for the arriving guests. They would store them in the room behind the lord's throne, until they were called for.

Arthos made his way to the Great Hall, where Ned and Benjen were waiting for him. Maester Luwin was there as well, along with six pairs of Stark guards. The three men were standing, flanking around the lord's throne. The guards were all lined along the walls, standing at attention. Ned had insisted on having them around for Arthos' protection. The clans were known for settling disputes with violence.

Arthos nodded at his regent and advisors, as he took his place on the throne. There was a small table in front of him, where he placed his grandfather's journal along with some maps and his own notes. He leaned back on his seat, a little tense and a bit irritated since he was only there to fulfill the role as the host.

Ned thought the mountain clans might not listen to Arthos since he was still a young boy, even if he was the Lord Paramount, so Ned would take the reins during the discussions. Once more, Arthos found being a child sucked when you have the mindset of an old man. Very few people took him seriously.

The doors to the hall soon opened, as the herald announced the arrival of the mountain lords. More than a dozen men entered the hall, wearing wool and leather. Arthos recognized the lords not by their appearance, but by the weapons they wielded. Steel was a rarity for the tribes, not having the knowledge or resources for proper smiths in their mountains.

Most of the men carried stone or wooden weapons, with the occasional iron ones, but the lords were armed with steel blades; the regular kind that most of the kingdoms use for their soldiers. Looted from ironborn raiders, wildlings, or pirates perhaps.

There were at least seven lords amongst them, from the more prominent tribes Arthos assumed. Their men carried their colors, most of which Arthos recognized from his lessons with Luwin. There were the Wulls, the First Flints, the Norreys, and the Knotts, among others. They all stepped close to the dais to face their Stark leaders.

At the forefront was Lord Hugo Wull, a fat man with a mean, bearded face, and an even meaner battle-axe strapped to his back. The man's eyes roved over the Starks, stopping at Arthos. The Wull snorted then turned to Ned with a nod, making Arthos frown.

"Lord Ned," Lord Hugo greeted with a smile, his gruff voice echoing through the hall. Before Ned could respond, Arthos cleared his throat as he stood up from his seat. He eyed the Wull coldly, as he spoke in a calm voice.

"Should you not address the master of this house first, _my lord_?"

The room was silent. Arthos could feel his uncles and Luwin gaping at him as he deviated from their plan. Arthos himself was cringing internally. Not at his actions, but at his words. He never thought there'd be a time where he'd ever quote Zeus's first words to him, but he was wrong.

The chiefs stared at him, some even glaring. The Wull raised an eyebrow at Arthos, his eyes challenging the boy. Arthos did not back down, staring back intensely. The mountain clans led a more martial life, and Arthos knew they valued strength above all. He needed to show he was strong, right here and now, or they'd never respect his authority.

The air was thick with tension as the Stark and the Wull had a silent standoff. Eventually, the chief smirked and let out a bellowing laugh. Ned and Benjen stared at the Wull, while Luwin clutched at his chest trying to calm his breathing. Arthos was a little surprised, but managed to compose himself quickly.

The other clan chiefs chuckled as well, apparently pleased and amused with the show of force. Arthos realized they were testing him, and it seemed he passed. "The pup bares his fangs," Lord Hugo grinned. "Not many would stand up to me like that, much less a small whelp like you. As expected from Brandon's brood. I meant no disrespect."

Arthos raised an eyebrow, his frown deepened. He knew very well the Wull would have disrespected him more if he hadn't spoken up. The fat man chuckled at Arthos expression. "I like this Stark of Winterfell. Now let's discuss what you wanted from us."

 _Straight to the meat of it,_ Arthos thought. He turned to Ned, who looked exasperated but nodded at Arthos to explain. The boy lord placed his hands behind his back, a small smile on his face. "Yes, let's."

Arthos began to pace along his side of the table. "I invited you all here to discuss plans to bring a new era of prosperity for the North. We hold the largest territory in the Seven Kingdoms, but are the poorest of all. Often relying on the "generosity" of the other kingdoms to feed our people; they bleed us dry as they grow fat from our desperation. I intend to change that."

The young lord pointed at a map of the northern mountains, where the sites of gold and silver were marked. "As the northern mountains are your territories, I'm sure you're all aware that there are several mineral deposits around the area. We intend to build a holdfast near these deposits where Lord Benjen can oversee the mining of the minerals."

Benjen nodded at his nephew, straightening and lifting his head high. Arthos nodded back and turned his attention back to the chiefs. "We will use these minerals to finance other projects, like a road network across the north to increase trade in the land. The Stark treasury will field the costs of labor during the first few months until the mines can give us profit.

"In exchange for your approval, we are willing to provide four hundred cattle to the clans and to supply your men with better forged steel weapons and armor. Once Lord Benjen's holdfast is built, you'll even have access to castle-forged steel."

"That's a lot, but not much in exchange for what you want," Torghen Flint announced, crossing his gnarled, red-knuckled hands across his stout frame. "From the looks of these maps, the deposits sit on several tribal lands. You'll be displacing a few of the clans from their homes. A few cows and some steel won't suffice for them to abandon their homesteads."

"Old Flint is right," Brandon Norrey agreed, standing half a head taller than the Flint. "This'll cause some friction with a few men, especially those whose homes might be destroyed from the mining."

"We've planned for those outcomes," Ned supplied. "New towns made of stone for shelter will be constructed around the mines and Lord Benjen's holdfast, where they will be welcome to live."

"Along with these towns will be better trade for the clans," Benjen added. "Once Lord Arthos' plans for a road network are in place, you won't need to travel too far for your needs."

The Wull hummed to himself. "We'd like to take a moment to discuss amongst ourselves."

Arthos nodded back confidently. He knew he'd done well enough with his research. The northern mountains high latitude and sparse resources caused population strain for the clans during harsh winters. Better housing and a supply of cattle would help mitigate that. With their position along the Bay of Ice, they often faced raids from ironborn and wildlings. The clans would benefit well with better equipment.

All in all, the deal would be beneficial for everyone. The clans get better resources, the Starks get the gold, which in turn provides even more benefits for all of them.

The mountain lords gathered together and whispered amongst themselves, discussing the Starks' proposition. Arthos kept his nervousness hidden as he watched the chiefs' debate. He looked to his uncles and his maester, his small council, who each gave him a look of support. He took a deep breath, waiting for the mountain lords' decision. The Wull stepped forward, making Arthos tense up in anticipation.

"The Starks have always been fair to us," Lord Hugo said after a moment. "It's good to see that hasn't changed. These terms are quite generous. We accept your proposal."

Lord Hugo held out his hand, which Arthos shook with an excited smile. The Wull chuckled at the boy's expression. Around them the other clansmen cheered. Benjen grinned at Ned, who returned it with a small smile.

Lord Hugo stepped back from Arthos. "I can tell you'll bring great things for the north, pup. Know that you'll have the full support of the mountain clans from here on out. Lead us well."

Arthos nodded. The first steps of his plans have begun. Many things would be changing in the north.

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _And so, begins Arthos' plans for world domination (not really). The mountain clans will be the easiest to deal with. They're a martial community and only require food, shelter, and weapons. They're also very loyal to the Starks. The other noble lords won't be so simple._**

 ** _This chapter took so long to write. Was originally going to just be Arthos talking with Benjen about Lyanna, and then both of them talking to Ned about Lyanna, but I didn't want them to just sit around and tell stories to each other. So, I compressed it a bit and added Arthos' first attempt at negotiations._**

 ** _Might be a mistake though. I don't know. This is all a learning experience for me._**

 ** _Hope you all like it!_**


	11. Tyrrak Shyr

_Harrentown, the Riverlands (284)_

It was early morning on a warm summer day, the sun was barely cresting over the horizon. Men and women were rising up and getting ready for the day, scurrying around the streets of Harrentown. Several men were stepping out of the Drunk Duck tavern, heading off to work after an early morning drink. An old man in a worn leather jerkin stepped out as well, followed by a younger man. The old man looked up at the towering castle of Harrenhal as its shadow loomed over them, reaching out to the northern edge of the God's Eye. He muttered to himself before heading to the docks.

"Come on, son," the old man grunted as the young man struggled to keep up with him. "Before we run out of fish to catch."

"Don't work the boy too hard, Lenny," one of the other patrons called out as they went off. "And take care of your old man, Carp. He's not as young as he used to be."

"Nor as smart!" another retorted. The old man, Lenny, grumbled to himself as the drunkards let out loud bouts of laughter.

The father and son made their way down to the lakeshore, passing through the center of town where several stalls were being set up for the day. Farmers and merchants, selling wheat, wine, silks, and other products. As they neared the small dockyard of the town, the old man spied a large group of people camping out at the edge of town. Most wore ragged and worn clothing, with little to no personal belongings, owing to their impoverished lifestyle. A few of the more well-off individuals had aurochs and other cattle carrying their supplies.

Lenny narrowed his eyes as a few of the individuals surrounded a young child in a green cloak. The boy seemed to be telling them something, as he gestured with his hands. They were too far away to overhear, but they all seemed shocked and delighted with whatever the boy was saying. The boy took something from his cloak and gave it to one of the travelers, who gave the child a hug.

"What do you think is going on over there?" the old man's son, Carp, asked.

"Don't mind them, boy," The old man replied, making his way to the boathouse that housed his skiff and fishing supplies. "Just a bunch more fools, thinking there's a better life up in the frozen shithole up north."

"I heard the new lord of Winterfell has been making a lot of changes in the north," Carp continued as they carried some fishing nets and other equipment on to the skiff and started unmooring it. "Kevan from the Shadow of the Castle said that-"

Lenny smacked his son on the head, and gave him a stern glare. "What'd I tell you about going to that seedy, shit stain of a brothel. That place is full of liars and thieves. And what would a drunkard like Kevan know about anything, other than how to drown in his drink? The north is a land filled with uncultured savages who worship trees and like to lie with wild wolves, and the Starks are the worst of them."

Someone cleared their throat behind them. The two men turned around and saw the young boy in a green cloak from earlier, standing by the open doorway. His face was partially covered by the dark, hooded cloak, but his violet-grey eyes and kind smile were still visible. Under the cloak the boy wore lambskin breeches, and a bronze-scaled jerkin. A small satchel was hanging by his shoulder, and a very short sword on his belt. The old fisherman narrowed his eyes at the attire, it was the common look of the crannogmen.

"Pardon the intrusion," the cloaked boy said. "One of the dockworkers pointed this boathouse to me, saying you hadn't left for the water yet. I was wondering if I could borrow your skiff to get to the Isle of Faces. I'm willing to pay for it."

"I don't have time for a snot-nosed, frog eater like you," Lenny spat. "And I doubt you have any coin to afford my boat. If you want to get to the island, you can swim there. I heard you mud men could breathe underwater anyway. Now get out of my boathouse, you're getting in the way of my livelihood."

The old man turned away as he untied the last rope from the post, but turned back when the cloaked boy dropped a small pouch next to him. The old man picked it up and threw it at his son, who fumbled but caught it. "I don't want your fucking copper," Lenny growled in annoyance.

"F-Father," Carp stuttered out.

"What is it, boy?" Lenny asked, his patience wearing thin as he turned to his son. The old man's eyes widened. Carp had opened the pouch and pulled out several gold coins. They stared at each other in disbelief, before slowly turning their attention back to the cloaked boy.

The boy still wore that childlike grin on his face. "There are twenty gold wolves in there, recently minted by House Goldstark of the northern mountains, and approved for use around the seven kingdoms by King Robert two months past. They're worth half a gold dragon, but should be enough to get you by for a year at most, I reckon."

The boy pulled out another pouch from his bag, this one seemed larger than the first. "I'll give you thirty more if you sell me your skiff right now, no questions asked."

A few minutes later, Lenny stood next to his son, with two pouches of gold in their hands. They watched as the boy in the green cloak started rowing out of the boathouse. "You've done a great service to House Stark today," the boy called out as he went farther out to the lake. "You have my thanks."

As the boy left their line of sight. The father and son duo turned to each other, still in a daze from the strange events. "What did he say?" Carp asked.

"I don't know," Lenny said. "And I don't really care. We're fucking rich now, let's get back to the tavern and get as drunk as a Dornish whore."

"I'm starting to think you don't actually know anything outside the riverlands," Carp mumbled to himself, as he followed his father out of the boathouse and back to the Drunk Duck.

Arthos let out a disgruntled sigh as he rowed away from the unnecessarily prejudiced old fisherman. As he got to a point on the lake where he knew no one would spot him and stopped rowing. He let his mind go into auto-pilot as he used his powers to steer the boat across the blue and green waters of the God's Eye.

The young Stark looked out across the lake, at the large island at its center, covered in a thick canopy of green, with several of the blood-red leaves of the weirwood trees interspersed around it. He took in a deep breath as he prepared himself for his little quest. He'd been hoping to visit the isle for a long time, but he'd been too busy for the last six months.

After his talks with the mountain clans, Arthos had sent for men to start working on the mines but had hit a small hurdle. Most of their builders were already busy with the reconstruction of Moat Cailin, so they hadn't any men to spare for the amount of work required. Ned had proposed asking the king to send them some workers from King's Landing, so they sent Robert a raven.

Robert, however, hadn't been able to send any men. They also needed builders since the capital had sustained major damage when the Lannister army sacked it during the rebellion. So Arthos suggested that the king send them some of their homeless residents. Arthos would offer them food, shelter, and a chance at a new life up north. It would help the capital's poverty problem, while also giving the north a much-needed boost to their workforce.

Arthos sighed, placing his head in his hands as he floated through the God's Eye. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but he hadn't expected all the problems that would come with it. Hundreds and thousands of the smallfolk traveled up the Neck to live in the cold north. At first, the immigrants were a big help, doubling construction time. They got the mines up and running in little over a month. Benjen had taken residence in the mountains to oversee the mining and minting of the ore. He'd taken a new name, Goldstark, after Arthos jokingly called him it one time, because Benjen had named his new holdfast Goldridge.

Problems came quickly, though. Arthos had had to place a double order on imported foodstuff from the Reach and the riverlands so he could feed the new settlers, leaving a huge dent in Winterfell's coffers for some time. They made the money back when the gold and silver mines started churning out some revenue.

There was quite the friction between the northerners and the southern immigrants, mostly about religious beliefs. While most of the new settlers were open to living with those that worship the old gods, some even taking up the faith of the north themselves, there were those who refused to tolerate anything that wasn't the Faith of the Seven.

Arthos spent half his time getting the immigrants settled into northern life, and the other half dealing with the Faith of the Seven. He'd let them build a small sept in winter town, but when the fanatics started calling out for the felling of weirwood trees Arthos had had enough. He'd had them thrown back south of the Neck, and had the sept moved to Moat Cailin for his Aunt Catelyn.

He'd received some backlash from the Faith, even getting a letter of complaint from the High Septon, and a warning from the crown to treat the Seven with more respect. To which Arthos replied, _"Why should I respect those who'd spit in my face when I offered them bread and salt?"_

Things settled down after some time, but Arthos had been left exhausted from all that happened. Maester Luwin had suggested he take some time for himself, away from his duties. Ned had agreed, assuring Arthos that he'd take care of everything while he took a well-deserved rest. Arthos had been hesitant, but eventually agreed, deciding to use his free time to continue his research on the children of the forest. The young lord had asked to take some time away to visit Lord Howland at Greywater Watch.

Arthos had found very little information in Winterfell's library, despite its extensive collection. He'd concluded that the best source of information would be the green men on the isle of faces, and since Lord Howland was the only one he knew that had ever gone there, Arthos had to talk to the man. It took some time, but he'd eventually convinced the lord of the Neck to cover for him as he went to visit the isle alone. So, Howland let him slip away from Greywater through the Green Fork river, disguised as just another crannogman. He'd lent Arthos a few trusted men to get him past the Twins undetected, but once Arthos disembarked near the Crossroads, he was on his own.

 _"The green men are reclusive, like those of us in the Neck,"_ Howland had said to him. _"They rarely show themselves to visitors, preferring to keep to the valley of the gods. You must seek them out alone, offer them a gift as a sign of your peaceful intent."_

Arthos patted the small obsidian dagger his mother had given him when he left Starfall. He'd read that the children of the forest fought with obsidian weapons. He hoped it would be a good enough gift, though he did question whether it was a good idea to give a blade as a peace offering. Hopefully, the green men wouldn't take it as a threat.

Arthos hoped he had enough time on his hands. The harvest feast was in three months, and he couldn't afford to miss it. He'd missed last year's harvest since he'd arrived at Winterfell a month afterwards, but this next one would be very important. He'd be meeting with all the northern lords, and he'll need to make a great impression if he wanted to get his plans in motion.

The young lord looked up at the night sky. It had grown dark since he'd first sailed that morning, yet he was still far from his destination. The stars shined brightly, dotting the sky like glowing jellyfish under the cold, dark sea. He'd not seen so many stars since his quest with the Hunters of Artemis, though that still could not compare to the sight before him. He smiled ruefully as he stared at his favorite constellation. The Huntress.

Through sheer coincidence, this new world had the same pattern of stars as that of Zoë Nightshade's constellation. Most of Westeros referred to it as the Archer, or the Piercer by the wildlings, but Arthos fondly called it the Huntress, often looking towards it as a reminder of where he had come from.

"It seems I've got myself in a big mess again, Zoë," he whispered to the stars. "Hope you're having a good laugh at my expense."

Arthos looked back at the island, still so many miles away. He sighed and took out some stale bread and salted jerky he'd saved during his trip, and ate his supper before lying down to sleep. He wasn't worried about tipping over, he would always be safe in water. He counted the stars until he grew tired and dozed off into his dreams.

 _Arthos stood on a high ridge, overlooking a great mountain range that stretched as far as the eye could see. The breeze howled in the high altitude, like the untamed wind spirits from his old life. Snow fell endlessly, blanketing the land in cold, white frost. The air was colder than what Arthos was used to, the winds eliciting a shiver as he felt them on his skin._ _The mountains opened up into a small valley, where a village was situated at the base of a small hill. A large hearth fire burned at the center of the village, where several of the settlers were gathered and trying to keep warm._

 _"Watch," someone spoke beside him._

 _Arthos turned to look and found a cloaked figure standing next to him. They were unusually tall and slender, covered by a ragged and torn cloak as white as the ever-falling snow. Their face was shrouded under the shadow of their hood, and Arthos could see no features through the darkness._

 _"Who are you?" Arthos asked. His voice sounded hollow, like he was talking through a long, empty hallway. "Where am I?"_

 _The figure did not respond, simply raising a spindly arm, pointing their one bony finger at the small settlement. Arthos looked back and saw a large rolling cloud of ice and snow coming in from further north. The skies above the snowstorm had darkened, blocking out even the pale light of the moon. The blizzard seemed to move with purpose, a strange source of sentience, as it funneled deliberately towards the village._

 _Arthos watched in silent horror as the storm tore through the valley, swallowing the village, snuffing out the light of the hearth. The screams of the dying echoed up the mountains, as if the blizzard was rending through their flesh and bones. They seemed to scream for hours, until all was silent again, except for the whispers of the freezing wind. The raging cloud of death seemed to calm down, as it began to slowly roll out of the valley._

 _"He hungers," The figure whispered, in their soft, distant voice. Arthos realized they sounded female, and suddenly saw long, flowing locks of shockingly, white hair, tumble down her still shrouded face. "Always, he hungers."_

 _"What was that?"_

 _"Prepare," the woman said, ignoring his question entirely. "He comes for you."_

 _Arthos felt a chill in his soul as he turned back to the retreating storm. His eyes grew wide as he saw a horrible face form in the clouds, pale as milk, with burning blue eyes, and a cluster of horns in the shape of a bony crown. The storm began to make its way closer to him. Arthos fell down to his knees, as a cold, heavy presence bore down on him. The face in the storm smiled wickedly, as it came closer and closer. Arthos felt drained, dropping to the ground, his hands keeping him up. His eyes widened in fear as he felt his arms go stiff and cold, his skin growing pale blue._

 _"He senses your light," the woman whispered, her voice sounding strained, as if she had grown weaker. "You must go. Night gathers, and others join the board. The white worm and the singers, the grey sheep and the lightkeepers, the shadow of sorrows and the red witch. Beware them all."_

 _Arthos let out a strangled gasp, pain creeping up his chest. The woman kneeled down in front of him, raising his head to look at her. He could see her eyes. They were as bright-blue as stars, the same as the horrible face in the storm. Her brow was creased in effort, as if she was struggling to remain._

 _"Be vigilant, my star-eyed wolf," the woman whispered as her image began to fade. "My siblings stir from their slumber. They sense your presence, and know you don't belong here."_

 _As darkness overtook his vision, and he felt himself slipping away, he heard the woman whisper out one last thing._

 _"May my mother guide you, Perseus."_

Arthos woke up with a gasp, eyes wide and breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his brow. He was lying down on the skiff, staring up into the sky. It was a cloudy morning, the sun had just risen. Arthos saw a flock of birds soaring through the air. He sat up slowly, his back a little stiff from lying down all night in a bad angle. He calmed himself down, letting out a relieved sigh as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. His eyes narrowed as he pulled his hand back and found some slowly melting snow. Before he could react to it, he was lurched forward slightly, as the boat shuddered to a stop.

Arthos looked up and saw that he had reached the shore of the Isle of Faces.

The young lord disembarked from his skiff, taking a few steps in the soft, sandy beach, dotted every so often by little outcroppings. It was a hundred feet across from the shoreline to the tree line. From what Arthos could see, the entire island, or at least the side he was on, seemed to be filled with firs and pines, with several groves of weirwood trees in between, and a cluster of mountains in what Arthos presumed was the center of the island. He dragged the boat further inland, tethering it securely to a tree and covering it up with a huge canvas, and some foliage just in case.

Arthos grabbed his little satchel with all his essentials, strapping it on securely. He looked through the forest, between the hanging branches and the overgrown thicket. He took a deep breath before wading into the underbrush. The forest was quite beautiful, and relatively quiet. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy of green and red leaves, lighting up the thickets with breathtaking colors. Songbirds chirped their melodies happily, while the other forest critters scurried along. Arthos saw some squirrels, a field mouse, and a herd of elk passing through the forest. He even saw a black bear scratching itself against a pine tree.

The young boy spent a good few hours wandering south through the woods, trying to figure out where he was supposed to go. There weren't exactly any roads or signs to point him in the right direction, other than the few mountains tall enough to be seen over the trees. As he trekked through the undergrowth, wading through the bushes and trying not to trip over the large roots, he suddenly stopped. Something felt off to him. Arthos scanned his surroundings, watching and listening for a few minutes, before he realized what was wrong.

There was no sound anymore. The birds had stopped singing, the crawlers stopped skittering across the forest floor, only the sound of the wind passing through the leaves. Arthos narrowed his eyes in suspicion, clutching the hilt of his sword tightly. He slowly started wandering further in, his senses on high alert.

Arthos heard a barely perceptible rustling of leaves, he turned at the sound but found nothing except a pile of fallen leaves. He kept moving, hearing sounds of movement but never catching sight of whatever or whoever was following him, keeping him on edge. Suddenly, a large bush in front of him started to rustle violently. He slowly started unsheathing his sword, preparing to strike out. As the bush kept shuddering, a small creature leapt out. Arthos slid his sword out, raising it to strike down on the deadly... fluffy... big-eared fox.

The fox looked up at Arthos, seemingly unconcerned at the sight of a human with a raised weapon, as it tilted its head like an inquisitive dog. Its eyes seemed to shine with more intelligence than it should have. Arthos let out a relieved sigh, as he sheathed his blade, crouching down in front of the fox. "Were you the one following me?"

The fox watched him, wagging its tail around, slowly. Arthos brought out a piece of jerky from his pack, reaching out to offer it to the fox. The fox sniffed it before snatching it from his hand. As it bit into the meat, Arthos stood up and looked around, ears perked and not hearing any movement around him. He relaxed slightly, but still on guard from the seemingly instant disappearance of the other animals around the forest.

"You wouldn't happen to know what happened to the other animals, do you?" Arthos asked the fox.

"Oh, I sent them away," a chipper voice suddenly spoke up behind him.

Arthos whirled around, sword out once again and ready to strike. There was a loud 'eep!' as whoever spoke ducked down and rolled to the side. They rose back up, hands raised in a pacifying manner. "Hey, put that down! Are you trying to kill me?!"

Arthos stared in confusion. A little girl was standing in front of him. She had short, choppy red hair, bright green eyes, and freckled cheeks. She looked about eight or nine years old, wearing a green tunic, wrapped in brown leathers, under a cloak made of leaves. She seemed nervous, which was understandable since there was a sword pointed at her throat.

"Who are you?" Arthos asked, lowering his sword slightly, but still prepared in case he needed to defend himself. She may have looked young and nonthreatening, but she had still been skilled enough to sneak up on him. He eyed the girl suspiciously. "Were _you_ the one following me?"

The girl's shoulders relaxed as Arthos stopped trying a sword through her face. She straightened up, pulling at the hem of her green tunic and clearing her throat. "My name is Kiki, and I was. Not for any _nefarious_ reasons, I can assure you." She quickly put her hands up again, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"Then why were you following me?"

"Well, uh," she grinned nervously. "My mother sent me. She said you were looking a bit lost, so she told me to take you to her."

Arthos started to ask who her mother was, when his eyes widened in realization. "You're part of the order of the green men."

Kiki nodded and grinned more confidently. "Yes! We've been expecting you for some time now."

"You have?"

Kiki hummed in assent. "Mother knew you were coming days ago. She saw you in her dreams."

"We didn't think you'd get lost in the forest. Most of your people have always been very good at traversing the woods. Though I suppose it's quite different from your swamp." She stepped past Arthos, stopping to pet the little fox before moving on. "That's why I'm here. Come on, I'll show you the way."

The girl walked through the forest with no trouble, leaving Arthos behind to stare at her in shock. They knew he was coming. They had been watching him the moment he stepped onto their shores, and sent one of their own to guide him. Which was pretty embarrassing, especially since they thought he was one of the crannoogmen of the Neck.

He felt something tugging on his cloak, and turned to see the fox at his heels, pulling at the edges of his cloak. It let go and darted back through the bush that Kiki passed through, before reappearing with an insistent look and letting out a yip.

Arthos hesitated for a second, looking around him cautiously before following the fox. Arthos was growing tired from walking all day, and the constant vigilance had taken its toll on him. The fox showed him a small hidden foot path, that lead up to a small clearing at the base of a mountain, with a small tunnel that lead deeper inside. The fox turned back with a yip, before diving in to the dark cavern.

The tunnel cut through solid rock, about the width and height of one of Winterfell's hallways, rising at a small incline. As he moved deeper into the hillside, the rough stone floor became smoother, and reed torches started lining the walls and lighting the way. The torches burned but did not smoke.

A few hundred yards away, Arthos could see the tiny silhouette of the fox, next to the waiting form of Kiki, in front of a square of daylight. She was waving and calling out for him to hurry up. As he got closer to the end, the glow grew brighter until he finally burst into sunlight.

Arthos gaped in awe. Spread out at his feet was a set of stairs, leading down into a bowl-shaped valley several miles wide. The basin floor was rumpled with smaller hills, golden plains, and stretches of forest. A small clear river cut a winding course from a lake in the center and around the perimeter. Nestled by the lake was a small village made of wood and stone huts, partially hidden in the trees that ran along its western shore.

On the northern part of the lake, was the tallest weirwood tree Arthos had ever seen, almost half as tall as the shortest mountain on the island. It was surrounded by a dense grove of other weirwoods, none of which could match its incredible height. It blanketed its surroundings under the shade of its constantly falling leaves.

"Welcome to _Tyrrak Shyr_ ," Kiki said proudly.

"The Land of Eternal Spring." Arthos whispered in awe, recognizing the words in the Old Tongue.

Kiki gave him an impressed nod, before picking up the fox and placing it around her neck like a scarf. "Come on, I'll show you around."

The girl made her way nimbly down from the tunnel entrance, like an excited mountain goat. Arthos let out an exhausted, but still happy, sigh. He smiled tiredly in triumph. He'd found the green men. He took a minute to catch his breath, before descending into the valley, following Kiki and ready to meet the keepers of the woods.

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _Arthos goes to the Isle of Faces to learn the children's magic from the green men. Sorry if I took my sweet-ass time with this chapter. I went through so many revisions (for some reason keeps erasing the lines I put to seperate stuff), and also had to take a break to prepare for the holidays. I wanted to write more, but it felt like I already wrote too much for one chapter so I'll leave it for next time._**

 ** _I hope you all like it._**

 ** _Merry Christmas!_**


	12. A Familiar Face

_Tyrrak Shyr, the Isle of Faces (284)_

It took about an hour to reach the village of Tyrrak Shyr, and by then the sun was already setting and casting the sky in a mix of dark oranges and blues. The villagers had lit up some torches and campfires to light up the night.

Arthos was escorted through the village of the green men by Kiki, who was acting like his own personal tour guide and pointing out various people and places around the valley. She explained that there were about four other villages around the island, though Tyrrak Shyr was the largest. There were roughly three thousand people in the valley, which was nearly half of the total population of the island.

The people lived modestly, in homes made of hardwood and stone cabins that Arthos doubted would give much warmth in winter. The green men were dressed primarily in leathers, furs, and the occasional cloak of leaves. Despite their rather meager wealth and living, everyone seemed to be content with their lives in the isle.

As Kiki led him down a dirt path through one of the neighborhoods, Arthos could see and hear some of the villagers watching and talking about him. He did his best not to show any discomfort, but still tried to stick closer to Kiki as they made their way. Kiki didn't seem to notice, or maybe just decided not to comment.

"Over there is where Aomud lives," Kiki said pointing to one of the shacks along their path. "He's the head of our hunters here. And over there by the river is Skaha's and Ifae's. Best to avoid them when you can. They've got an ongoing sibling rivalry that usually ends up in a fight that drags anyone nearby in."

"Where exactly are we going?" Arthos asked impatiently. "It's very late, and I've been traveling for some time now. I would like to get some rest."

Kiki smiled apologetically at him. "Don't worry, we've not far left to walk. It's just up ahead."

She brought Arthos to the large weirwood at the center of the valley, and Arthos looked at it with awe. It was the most human looking weirwood he'd ever seen. While most of the white trees had faces carved on their trunks, the weirwood of Tyrrak Shyr looked like a giant human woman with a sleeping face, buried neck-deep under the earth.

The tree was elevated on a small hill, surrounded by more houses and villagers. Where the tree-woman's heart would be was a circular door that led under the hill, that reminded Arthos of a hobbit-hole from _Lord of the Rings_. Kiki walked up towards the door, pushing it open and gesturing for Arthos to follow her inside.

The interior looked just as Arthos figured it would, when he could finally see thanks to Kiki lighting a torch. It was a long tunnel that lead into several caverns of different sizes. There were a few hanging lanterns filled with faintly glowing stones, and some floating, luminescent insects that helped cast a dim light in the cave rooms. Thousands of long, thick and twisted roots from the tree above broke through the ceiling, walls and floor. The place reminded him of Calypso's cave, if it were darker and made entirely from roots and hardened soil.

Arthos felt extremely claustrophobic being deep underground, but also because something felt off. The moment he stepped in the tunnels, he started feeling a heavy presence around him. He couldn't quite place what it was, but it felt familiar and not at the same time. He would shrug it off, but after a while the feeling would return.

Arthos followed Kiki into the largest cavern, where a brighter source of greenish light was coming from. Inside was a beautiful room, filled with wooden furnishing that seemed to have grown directly from the roots in the ground. Four six-feet thick roots stood as pillars holding up the center of the room, where a large table with images of war and peace carved into its surface.

At the end of the room was a cloaked figure, kneeling in front of a large glowing green stone, the size of a house, which was embedded into the wall. Several roots surrounded the stone, like a series of fingers clutching at it. The light from the glowing stone fluctuated in a slow, steady rhythm.

The cloaked figure had one hand wrapped around the nearest root connected to the stone, and seemed to be murmuring to themselves. They knelt with their backs to the entrance, so Arthos couldn't see any of their features. Kiki looked back at Arthos, giving him a concerned look for a moment before approaching the figure and kneeling a few feet behind them. Arthos followed her lead and knelt down as well.

" _Magair_ ," Kiki whispered, her voice echoing across the walls. " _Ak egah gera min idya. Ak egah faeda de mogurr_."

" _Alveglia, minn meyla_ ," the figure replied in a high, feminine voice that seemed familiar. They stood up, dropping the hood of their cloak and turning to face the two children bowing before them. Arthos looked up at the figure.

It was a woman, with a slim build, frizzy red hair, and whose face was hidden behind a dark wood mask except for her verdant green eyes that Arthos knew from a time before. She wore the same clothes as all the other green men and carried a long, twisted staff that seemed to writhe in her grip. She gestured for them to stand, watching them both silently.

"Thank you, Kiara," the woman spoke, her voice somehow familiar to Arthos. "You may take your leave. The young lord and I have much to discuss."

Kiki looked like she wanted to argue for a moment, but her mother, the masked woman, gave her a pointed look. The girl let out a huff, bowing low and then leaving the cavern, muttering about not calling her Kiara. Arthos watched her walk away with an amused expression, before turning back to face the masked woman. She gestures for him to sit at one end of the long table, taking the seat at the other end herself.

"So," Arthos spoke up after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. "I heard you were expecting me?"

The red-haired woman nodded. "For a long time, before you were even born, young man."

"How? Who are you?"

"I could answer those questions, but it would be more entertaining to have you figure it out yourself. I'll give you a hint, though. Who are you?"

Arthos frowned at that. "I am Arthos Stark, lord of Winterfell and warden of the north."

The woman let out an amused chuckle. "Yes, I suppose that's true, but not what I meant. I didn't ask for your name, I asked you who you are."

"I just told you. I'm-" Arthos paused, thoughtfully, as he looked back at the red-haired, masked woman. He could feel her smiling at him in amusement; he could see it in her eyes behind the mask. A familiar teasing gleam he'd seen before, but couldn't place. He could feel the answer at the back of his mind, just out of reach. It was very frustrating.

Then with a quiet gasp, he remembered.

"My name is Percy Jackson," he said, pausing as he felt the cavern and tunnels rumble with the sound of his name. "I am the son of Sally Jackson, and Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea."

"And you," he said as he stared into those familiar eyes, a smile slowly forming on his face. "Are the red-headed nightmare."

The woman gave out a quiet chuckle, her shoulders slacking in relief. She reached up and removed her mask, revealing a young, attractive woman, in her late-twenties, with a freckled face and green eyes that shined with delight. It was a face he had not seen in decades.

"Hey, Percy," said Rachel Elizabeth Dare, her lips pulled into a grin. "It's been a while."

/-/

 _ **A/N:**_

 _ **Rachel Elizabeth Dare has joined the chat.**_

 _ **Sorry for the long wait, and the short chapter. This has been a shit first month of 2019 for me. I won't bore you all with any specifics, but just know it's been hard. This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I figured it would be better to update with a shorter chapter since it's been so long.**_

 _ **Anyway, thank you all for your patience. I'm going to try and have a set schedule of updates, so this doesn't happen again. Maybe every Thursday or Friday, I don't know yet.**_

 _ **I'm off to go (try) fix my life.**_


	13. Moving Pieces

_Pyke, the Iron Isles (284 AC)_

It was early morning, as Balon Greyjoy, the Lord Reaper of Pyke, stared out the large, open window in his solar over the eastern sea that lead to Ironman's Bay. The wind was cold, strong, and loud at his height, near the very top of the Great Keep of Pyke. The salty ocean scent was overpowering as it was brought in by the breeze.

Balon's hard black eyes were narrowed, as his long grey hair billowed behind him. Out there in the green lands, he saw a nation left fractured by a bloody civil war. One in which his late father, Quellon, had died in. Quellon had wanted to fully integrate the Iron Isles into the Seven Kingdoms, but now that Balon was Lord Reaper, he had other plans.

The kraken yearned to return to the Old Way of the ironborn, to pay the iron price. To plunder and pillage every city along the sea, to be respected and feared as they were in the Age of Heroes. To be king of the Iron Isles.

And now was the perfect opportunity to seize his kingdom.

Balon turned around and exited his room, making his way to a large chamber where his council was waiting for him. They all sat around a long table, with an open seat at the head for Balon which he took immediately. To his right was his brother, Victarion, in his armor of boiled black leather, heavy grey chainmail, and lobstered plate. To Balon's right was his other brother, Euron, sat with his feet on the table, his smiling eye looking at Balon with an unnerving grin. The rest of the seats were filled by Balon's two elder sons: Rodrik, who sat next to Victarion, and Maron, who looked uncomfortable next ot his Uncle Euron. At the other end of the table was Aeron Damphair, Balon's youngest brother and a priest of the drowned god.

"You all know why we're here." The Lord Reaper met the eyes of all those present, clasping his hands together in front of him. They all nodded, except for Euron, whose grin only widened. Balon's eyes narrowed as he continued.

"Then let us begin."

 _Sunspear, Dorne (284 AC)_

Ashara Dayne stared out at the queer, dusty town that spread west from one of Sunspear's walls. The shadow city, the closest thing Dorne had to a true city, made of mud-brick hovels enveloped between the three Winding Walls. The city had no sense of planning, as it grew out at a haphazard pace, turning the place into a labyrinth of narrow alleys, homes and bazaars.

The streets were filled to the brim with smallfolk; men pulling along carts or livestock, women selling clothes of linen and cotton, street urchins chasing each other along the rooftops, and the city guard keeping an eye on everything.

Ashara watched this all from inside her living wagon, as her small caravan of servants and guards passed through the Threefold Gate on their way to the Old Palace. The sun hung low in the sky; the heat of its light offset by the pleasant breeze coming in from the coast to the east. The salty smell of the sea, and the taste of foreign spices wafted through the air.

From where she was, she could barely see the ancient, squat, dun-colored dromon-looking keep known as the Sandship; the original seat of House Martell. Further behind it she could see the two famous towers of the Old Palace: the tall and slender Spear Tower, and the great, domed Tower of the Sun.

Ashara had been to Sunspear only twice before. The first time, was when her father had brought her along in hopes of getting her betrothed to Prince Oberyn. The betrothal didn't fall through, but she did end up becoming good friends with Elia Martell during her visit. The second time Ashara visited was when Elia asked Ashara to be her handmaiden, as she had just been betrothed to Prince Rhaegar.

Ashara smiled sadly at the memory. Elia had been equally excited and terrified at the thought of becoming the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Those had been simpler days. Happier.

"Are you alright, my lady?" one of her handmaidens, Nyssa, who had accompanied her inside the wagon asked. She had been fairly new to the Dayne household, but Lord Alric had her highly recommended and assigned her to Ashara.

"I'm fine, Nyssa," Ashara told her with a short smile.

Elia was gone, now. Ashara missed her friend dearly, but she could do nothing for Elia or her son anymore. Elia's daughter, however, could still be saved.

Ashara had gotten word from Symon, earlier this year. They had not stayed long in Braavos, having not many helpful connections in the city, so Symon was taking Rhaenys to Norvos, his homeland. They would stay there for some time, but would eventually make their way to Myr, where Ashara hoped to meet them.

She would bring the princess home. For Elia. Ashara would bring her back to Dorne, to be with her family where she would be safe. Speaking of which…

Ashara let out a sigh as she fiddled with the jewels around the skirt of her dress. She still had to speak to the Martells about Rhaenys, and her plans to bring the princess back. It was why she'd come to Sunspear. Ashara needed their help if she wanted things to go well, and since Rhaenys was their family, she hoped they would agree. The question was whether or not they would believe her.

All of Westeros believed Rhaenys to be dead, and Ashara had little more than her word as evidence to the contrary. She was hoping that her close friendship with Elia would afford her the benefit of the doubt from her brothers.

Ashara was shaken out of her thoughts when one of her guards knocked on the side of her wagon. "My lady," he said, as he rode alongside her, nodding ahead of them. "Look."

The lady of Starfall narrowed her eyes as her party got closer to the entrance of the Old Palace, as she saw men carrying banners that shouldn't be in Dorne: the crowned stag of House Baratheon, and the soaring falcon of House Arryn.

Ashara frowned to herself. _Is the King at Sunspear? No, he wouldn't come here while things are still tense with Dorne. Then why are his banners here? Perhaps he sent Lord Arryn?_

As she wondered what the king's men were doing at Sunspear, her caravan had come to a stop as Martell guards called for them to stop. Her guards announced her visit, and that she was expected. She had sent a raven a month ago, announcing her visit. After a minute, they were led into the courtyard, where Ashara exited her wagon. She looked around, expecting to be met by Prince Doran, or perhaps Prince Oberyn, but was surprised to see neither of them. Instead she was met by the castellan, Ser Manfrey Martell.

"Welcome to Sunspear, Lady Ashara," Ser Manfrey said with a bow, before leading her and her entourage up to the guest apartments, showing the servants and guards where they would be staying on the way. "Prince Doran had wished to greet you when you arrived, but he and Prince Oberyn are currently meeting with Lord Arryn of the Vale. Prince Oberyn had been very vocal about his displeasure with the fate of Princess Elia and her children, and has been raising arms in support of the exiled Prince Viserys. The Hand of the King has been sent to dissuade House Martell from this path."

Ashara's brow furrowed in worry at the castellan's words. She knew Oberyn was close to Elia, and given what happened Ashara understood his anger, but she didn't think he would do something so rash. Dorne was in no position to rebel against the crown so soon after the last war. Hopefully, Prince Doran could rein in his brother's thirst for revenge.

When they reached where Ashara would be staying, Ser Manfrey turned back to her with a nod. "The princes will have to meet with you later, perhaps even tomorrow, my lady. I will send someone to summon you once they are ready. Until then, please enjoy your stay." The man bowed to her before turning and walking away.

"What do we do now, my lady?" Nyssa asked as Ashara had them fix up her belongings in her room, while her guards kept a watch outside.

Ashara let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over her brow as she tried to arrange her thoughts at the moment. She took a deep breath and sat down by the desk inside the room, grabbing some paper, a pen and an inkwell. She called in the captain of her guard, Ornela, as she began writing.

"Ornela, go to the docks and find me a ship with a reliable crew," Ashara ordered, as she handed her the rolled-up paper she was writing on, sealed with her sigil, before grabbing another piece of paper. "Give that to the captain you choose, as a contract that I'll be hiring them for a year and perhaps longer."

Ashara finished up writing two more letters, sealing it with her sigil before handing the first to Nyssa, and the second to another servant. "Have a rider take this back to Starfall, to my sister and only my sister. Have the second one sent to my son via raven. The north is too far away to have a rider get there soon enough."

Both women gave Ashara a nod and words of assent, before leaving the room and attending to their given tasks. Ashara stayed seated as the servants finished up unpacking her things, before sending them off so she could have some privacy.

Once she was alone, Ashara stood up and walked out towards the balcony attached to her room. She looked out towards the east, her eyes on the horizon, her thoughts across the narrow sea as she made a silent promise.

 _Be strong, little princess. We will bring you home._

 _Free City of Pentos, Essos (284 AC)_

Illyrio Mopatis lounged in the solar of his manse, enjoying some food, drink, and a young slave girl sitting on his lap. Opposite him sat a little street urchin, one of his old partner's little birds who'd come to deliver a letter. Illyrio had the slave on his lap hold the letter open in front of him, so he could read it while eating and running one hand along the girl's thigh. As he read through it, a small pleased smile appeared on his face.

The fat man gulped down the food in his mouth before addressing the little urchin in his manse. "Tell the spider that his information is impressive as always. We'll have to make some adjustments to our plans, but not by much. I'll keep an eye out for the little dragon. We'll get her soon enough."

Illyrio took a sip of fine wine as he watched the little boy nod and scurry off back to his hole. _The dragon has three heads_ , he thought to himself.

 _Now it has four._

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _The Greyjoys are planning things, Ashara's planning things, and the spider has caught a dragon in his web._**

 ** _I'm alive! Goddamn, I really suck at sticking to a schedule. Sorry for another short chapter. I've actually been busy trying to finish my thesis project, which is fucking draining me. I'm still not done with it, but at least I've finally made some good progress._**

 ** _Lost my creative mojo for a while, nearly had a breakdown cos' I couldn't work without thinking everything I do is shit. But I'm getting out of my rut, slowly but surely. Hopefully this time I won't take three months to update again._**

 ** _Anyway, thank you once more for your eternal patience and I hope you liked this chapter!_**

 ** _Next Chapter: April 27 (I'm going to stick to this)_**


	14. Higher Stakes

_Tyrrak Shyr, the Isle of Faces (284 AC)_

"They call me Kovira Nak Tor Nabir," Rachel told Arthos. It was the morning after he'd arrived on the island. They were currently sitting down and having breakfast, aboveground, thankfully. The caverns under the giant tree were uncomfortable for Arthos. They sat on the grass at the base of the great weirwood in the center of the valley, having a picnic of meat and fruits while looking out over the village.

"Kovira, who is kissed by fire?" Arthos snorted as he chewed on some slightly burnt rabbit meat. It was dry and unsalted, so it didn't taste great but it was still food. "That's an awful title. It just means you have red hair, right?"

Rachel, or Kovira, chuckled as she drank from her waterskin. "Yes, it's not very imaginative but it works well enough."

They were silent for some time, just enjoying the food, the shade, and the sights. Downhill, they watched as the villagers went about their day, gathering fruits and herbs, tending to the fields, hunting and fishing, repairing and building. Over at the lake, several children were splashing around and having some fun. Arthos noticed that Kiara was there as well, but she was sat on the shore several feet away from the other children, just watching them play.

Arthos turned to look at Kovira. Her mask hung on the side of her head, while her staff was laid down next to her. She was looking in her daughter's direction, a slight frown on her face. "I honestly never thought you would ever have a kid."

"Yes, well," Kovira said with a wry smile. "It's not like I was inhabited by the spirit of an oracle who required their hosts to be celibate, or anything like that."

Arthos snickered, as he watched Kovira stand up. She grabbed her staff, leaning heavily against it while Arthos gave her a concerned look. He hadn't noticed it when they first met, but Kovira was favoring her right leg. He hadn't had the chance to ask her about it, but he got the feeling it was very personal.

"Come with me," she gestured for Arthos to follow her as she slowly hobbled down the hill. "I have plenty of work to do today, and I'm sure you have plenty of questions for me as well. We can discuss these things while I do my duties."

And so, Arthos followed behind her as he watched how the leader of the green men took care of her people. He watched quietly as she delegated tasks, and oversaw the distribution of food and supplies. Kovira explained that their community was large, and their resources vast but limited. The village in Tyrrak Shyr was their only spot for farming, since the green men were mostly against cutting down their forests for anything other than tools, construction, or firewood. The outlying villages subsisted on hunting, gathering, and fishing; they relied on the farms in the valley for crops and such. Sometimes they would trade with the smallfolk in the riverlands, though those were only on rare occasions.

Every now and then, Arthos would ask Kovira a question, which she would try to answer as best as she could. Sometimes it was small things, like what her life had been like since she arrived in the Seven Kingdoms. Then of course, there were the big questions.

"How did I get here?" Kovira turned to Arthos after giving out some orders to stop hunting the deer on the island, since their numbers were getting low. "That's... a complicated question. Things weren't going so well for us, back home."

"What do you mean?" Arthos asked as they made their way to the farm fields.

"Things were getting weirder than usual when last I was there," Kovira explained. "A lot of strange things had started occurring, not just in the camps, but in the mortal world as well. The Mist was going haywire, mortals and spirits of the dead disappearing, monsters wandering in packs and gathering in strange places. The gods were worried that these were signs of their enemies returning. So, Zeus sent the Hunters to investigate the gathering monsters, and Hades sent Nico to find the missing mortals and spirits."

When they reached the fields, Kovira turned and gave him a look of sadness. "The hunters were decimated. They lost half of their numbers, including Thalia, and Nico never came back."

Arthos was stunned. He stopped in his tracks, as he let the information sink in. He looked down at the ground. "Thalia and Nico..."

Kovira placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Arthos shook his head, looking back at Kovira, his eyes watery. "It's fine. What else happened?"

The chieftess watched him closely, before nodding and continuing to walk. "For a while, nothing. People were still disappearing, and monsters were still congregating, but the gods made no move after the tragedy. The demigods of Camp Half-Blood wanted a quest to end the threat, but Chiron forbade them all out of fear of losing more; the Romans couldn't stop arguing about the dangers of a quest.

"Then one night, I had a dream. It was of you," Kovira looked at him, and Arthos knew she didn't mean Percy. "I knew it was you, despite how different you seemed. I saw other faces as well, ones I didn't recognize and ones I did. All of you, standing under an endless snow, facing off against a man with many faces, but the same blue eyes.

"When I woke up, I knew it was all somehow connected. I told Chiron immediately, and as soon as we were about to contact the gods, Thanatos and the Fates appeared. They told us about what happened to you, Annabeth, and Piper. They said that whatever took your wives, seemed to be taking the missing mortals and spirits as well, and that it was affecting the monsters and the Mist in the process.

"They said they didn't know what this would mean for our world, so they offered to send me here to warn you of what was happening and help you with this threat. I accepted, of course. I passed on the spirit of Delphi to a new oracle, and I made my way here."

They stopped at the edge of the farms, looking over the workers tending the fields, as the crops swayed with the breeze. Arthos' mind wandered as Kovira went to speak with the farmers. His shoulders felt heavy with all of the new information. He was angry. Death was supposed to release him from any more burdens, but now he had the fate of two worlds hanging over him and he hated it. He hated that someone or something had taken away his peaceful afterlife with the ones he loved.

Arthos looked up just as Kovira made her way back to him. "How long do we have?"

Kovira shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. Time is fickle when travelling between worlds. Before I left it had only been a fortnight after your death, and when I arrived here you weren't even born yet. We may have decades, or we may already be too late, though I highly doubt that."

"How do you figure?" Arthos asked.

"We're still here, aren't we?" Kovira gave the young boy a grin. "I doubt we'd let the end of the world happen without us doing anything about it."

Arthos let out a laugh, despite himself. "Then we best use whatever time we do have to prepare for the end of times."

Kovira nodded, her expression serious. She led them as they made their way back towards the central weirwood in the valley. "Yes, we should. Speaking of which, I know you came to meet the green men for a reason. Tell me what you need, Lord Stark."

"Information," Arthos said as they made their way through the village, making straight for the giant weirwood. It was late afternoon, now. The sun was low in the sky, and they saw the people lighting up the torches around the village in preparation for nighttime. "About the children of the forest, and their use of runes for magic. I was hoping to use runes to augment the blessing of Pan and help grow crops better in the north and feed my people."

Kovira gave him a proud smile. "Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of compassion and loyalty. Though teaching you about the children's magic will be difficult. They guarded their gifts jealously. Other than the children themselves, there are a very rare few who can use their magic: the greenseers."

"Can you do it?"

Kovira shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. I'm not a greenseer. I can't use their magic, but I still have my own."

As she said that, she held up her writhing, wooden staff which began to glow with green light. At the tip, a small group of yellow wildflowers started to grow. Kovira pulled them off with the roots unbroken, and started to plant them upon the base of the hill which was already filled with wildflowers.

"I still have Pan's blessing," Kovira said, somehow out of breath from the effort of using magic. "And some of my oracle abilities, though those have grown weaker through my time here. Using this staff helps sometimes, but often it just drains me too much. The Wildmother doesn't appreciate a foreign soul dipping their hands in her domain."

Arthos froze. "What did you say?"

"The staff helps me- "

"No, not that. You mentioned the Wildmother. Do you know who she is?"

Kovira looked at him confused. "Of course. She's one of the old gods, arguably the oldest."

"You've seen her?"

"Yes, and so have you."

Arthos blinked. "I have?"

Kovira sighed and pointed over his head. Arthos followed her gaze to see the large weirwood, with the sleeping woman's face. His eyes widened as realization came to him; what that familiar feeling he got while he was under the roots of the tree was, the heavy presence that surrounded him.

It was the aura of a sleeping primordial god.

"The old gods don't appreciate our presence in this world," Kovira explained, as she looked at her crippled leg. "I learned that the hard way."

That night, Arthos found himself kneeling in front of the same spot Kovira had when he first arrived at Tyrrak Shyr. The glowing green stone pulsated rhythmically. The Heart of the Valley, Kovira had called it. The Heart of the Wildmother.

Arthos stared at it with apprehension. Kovira told him that since the children were all gone, the only one who could potentially teach him their magic was the source. The Wildmother herself. However, Kovira also warned him to be careful.

 _"The one time I tried to use the power of her domain, she did not rreact kindly."_ Kovira said. _"My daughter was born crippled and dying. I didn't want to lose her. So, I entered the Green and used it to augment the blessing of Pan to heal my baby. That's when the Wildmother appeared._

 _"She was furious. I was a trespasser, she said. I had used her gifts without permission, and with that came a price to pay. She crippled my leg, and bound me to the Isle. I can never leave this place, lest I die."_

Arthos glared at the beating stone heart of a primordial god. He was angry and terrified. He didn't know if the Wildmother would even give him enough time to ask for help before smiting him or something. He shook the thoughts away and took a deep breath. He'd come a long way just to turn back now. He steeled his resolve, reaching out to touch one of the wooden tendrils surrounding the heart of the Widmother.

As his fingers wrapped around the roots, his vision went white.

He found himself standing in a field, endless and beautiful. The grass was tall and untamed; flowers of every shape and color sprung around the endless tide of green. The sky was cloudless and bright, the wind was soft and warm. In front of him he saw the great weirwood tree from the valley of the green men, sitting peacefully on top of its hill.

Suddenly, the hill began to shake and crack, as the roots of the tree started bulging out from the ground. The tree began to shift, rising out of the ground, twisting itself until it began to resemble a humanoid shape. The branches cracked and shifted, forming a strange set of strands that looked like hair. The entire thing shivered as it stood up to its full height, about a hundred or two hundred feet high.

The carved female face that was on its trunk turned in the direction of Arthos. He watched anxiously as its peaceful features began to creak and shift into a displeased frown.

 _SO_ , a powerful voice spoke in Arthos mind, causing him to stumble unto his knees. It sounded barely like a whisper, but the pressure felt like an entire avalanche had fallen on him. _ANOTHER TRESPASSER APPROACHES._

She opened her eyes, a pair of swirling green orbs that made the pressure keeping Arthos on his knees double. He heard and felt her approaching him, her thunderous footsteps cracking and shaking the earth. When it finally stopped, Arthos forced himself to look up with great difficulty. Through the haziness of his sight, he could see that the tree had kneeled down in front of him, her face a few feet from his own.

 _NOW TELL ME, CHILD,_ she asked. _WHY SHOULDN'T I CRUSH YOUR MIND AND SOUL FOR ENTERING MY DOMAIN UNINVITED?_

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _Everything just became a bit more complicated._**

 ** _Next Chapter: May 4_**


	15. Respite With Ravens

**_Sorry for the late upload. Gods, this chapter was a pain in the ass._**

 ** _Enjoy my suffering._**

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

 _Tyrrak Shyr, the Isle of Faces (284 AC)_

Kiara had always been curious. She liked to explore the isle, searching for something interesting. Most of the time it got her in trouble, which is why the other children avoided her, but once in a while she'd find something wonderful.

One summer when she was five, she'd been wandering the woods around Tyrrak Shyr. Her mother had warned her not to venture there alone, saying that there were great beasts that called the forests home. She hadn't been afraid of her mother's words, but fascinated. She'd heard stories from some of the villagers about them hunting and taming the beasts of the isle.

She'd heard there was a great black bear living in a cave somewhere in the woods. The hunters encountered it once, while looking for some game. They said it was massive, at least thirteen-feet tall standing up on its hind legs, and as thick as the oldest tree. Two of the hunters were injured fighting it, but they still hadn't been able to catch or kill it. They tracked it down for days, but still hadn't figured out where its cave was.

Kiara wanted to see it. She'd never seen a bear before. She wondered if it was really as big as the hunters claimed.

So, when the night came, she ventured into the woods alone. It had been dark and cold, the sound of insects prevalent in the air. She was nervous, but she pushed on. She was startled by a raven squawking at her, before taking flight out of the forest.

She'd always been unnerved by ravens. They came in her dreams and in her waking moments, always watching with their beady eyes.

It was a difficult journey, as she had brought no light and had no idea where to go. After an hour of fruitless wandering, she sat down on the forest floor in disappointment.

She decided to try again another time and made to return to the village, but realized that she had lost her way. She could not see the path she had taken in the dark. As fear began to overtake her, she closed her eyes and began to pray. She prayed for someone to find her, for someone to show her the way home.

And suddenly, she could see in the dark. Her eyesight was low to the ground and swept all around her. Her ears twitched on the top of her head, as did her nose; her senses were magnified. She could hear running water and she ran towards it; with a speed and agility she had never experienced before.

When she looked at herself in the water, she did not see her face. She saw a different face, covered in red and white fur, with a long muzzle, red eyes, and long ears. She was a fox.

No. She was a _warg_ , a skinchanger.

She never found the bear, and when she finally made it home her mother was furious with her, but it was all worth it. Because she'd found something much more amazing. And she even made a new friend.

These were the thoughts running through her head as she went and disobeyed her mother once more.

The order of the green men was a secretive people, and hardly ever had visitors. Especially nowadays, when the Faith of the Seven was more prevalent in the country, and the followers of the old gods only living in the north. No one south of the Neck cared about the Isle of Faces, and whoever lived there.

So, when her mother told her someone important was coming to the isle, Kiara had been excited. Then she'd been surprised to find it was a little boy, even younger than her it seemed. She hadn't been sure what made him important, but her mother treated the boy like an old friend. And the boy, Arthos, responded in kind.

Kiara's curiosity was peaked, even more so when her mother had told her that she had allowed the boy a chance to speak with the Wildmother.

Kiara was shocked. Her mother never allowed anyone but herself to speak to the Wildmother, and she herself was always hesitant to do it. Kiara couldn't blame her mother, not after the Wildmother crippled her mother for a simple transgression.

Kiara hoped her mother wouldn't react that badly to her own transgression.

" _We must not disturb them_ ," her mother had told her as she led Kiara out of the tunnels. " _The Wildmother is temperamental, especially when strangers enter her domain. It's best if he deals with her alone._ "

So, like a good daughter, Kiara immediately snuck back into the tunnels and quietly made her way into the chamber of the heart of the valley.

She watched from the entryway, peaking inside the chamber. The inside was bathed in the pulsing green light of the mother's heart stone. Arthos kneeled in front of the green stone, eyes closed and mumbling to himself. His hands were wrapped around one of the roots that encircled the stone, his grip so hard his knuckles were turning white.

As Kiara watched, she felt something in the air change. It was a strange, heavy presence that made her knees buckle and she nearly fell on the ground. She felt a breeze pass through her, which wasn't possible so deep underground. The strange wind was coming from the stone, and it carried something with it. Something old. As old as the sea and sky.

Something angry.

Suddenly, Arthos head snapped back, his mouth opening in a silent scream. His body began to writhe in place, as if it wanted to pull away, but his hands remained clamped on the roots around the stone.

Kiara was shocked and took a shaky step backwards. She didn't know what was happening. For the first time in her life, she didn't want to know what was happening. She wanted to run, to go back aboveground and find her mother and hide in her embrace. She was about to do just that, when she turned around to see something peculiar.

There was a raven in front of her. A blind raven. Not in a sense that it lost its sight, or its eyes. If either were the case it would have glassy orbs or empty sockets. This raven had neither, as if it were born without them. It was resting on one of the roots that grew out of the walls and hung in the cavern. Despite its lack of eyes, it observed Kiara curiously, cocking its head from side to side.

"W-what are you doing here, little bird?" Kiara asked nervously.

It cawed at her, pecking its feet before facing back at her. It cawed again and flew into the room, dropping next to Arthos, who was still silently screaming and thrashing about. Kiara felt the ground around her begin to shake weakly, dust and soil drifting down from the ceiling.

The raven turned its head to face Kiara once more, crowing at her again and pointing its beak at Arthos.

"What do you want me to do? I don't know how to help him!"

The raven crowed louder, before flying around the room and landing on the root that Arthos was holding. Its wings spread wide, and its beak open yet soundless. Its head turned towards her, and Kiara heard a sound escape its maw.

 _Heard_ was the wrong word. It was strange. It felt like something was pecking the inside of her brain, placing thoughts in her head that did not belong to her. It was a word. Just one word.

 _Serve._

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

Arthos was not happy.

Though, he very much doubted anyone would be, in his situation. Sprawled on the ground, forced to kneel by an invisible, overwhelming force, coming from an angry primordial goddess, was probably the last thing anyone wanted.

Kovira warned him of this reaction, though, so he wasn't completely surprised. He wasn't expecting such a show of force, but then again, he'd never personally fought a primordial before. Gaea had only ever appeared in his dreams, and when she finally did manifest in his world, it was Jason, Leo, and Piper who defeated her. While in Tartarus, Annabeth and he had met Nyx, who they barely escaped from with Annabeth's trickery. When they met the god of the Pit himself, Percy had been so terrified that he dropped his sword. The only reason he and Annabeth survived was thanks to a giant, a Titan and a cat.

This time he was alone. No allies to help him, no reinforcements to come save him at the last minute. He would have to face this old god by himself.

Which was a hard thing to do with his face being pushed into the ground.

 _WELL, BOY? SPEAK_ , the Wildmother said.

Arthos grumbled out some choice words through gritted teeth, letting out a groan as he attempted to stand. It was a difficult process; the goddess didn't let up with her presence. The Wildmother's aura was heavy. It was like trying to stand with a heavy mattress strapped to his body while he was stuck in jelly. But Arthos had once carried the weight of the sky in his former life. Compared to that, this was child's play. It took him a minute, but he finally got back on his feet.

He looked up at the Wildmother. The Wildmother seemed to be within the same power level as the other primordial gods in his old world, but something felt off about her, as if she was only barely with him.

Her hands were crossed; swirling green eyes narrowed at the young boy. _YOU HAVE ENTERED THE GREEN, MY SACRED REALM UNDER THE EARTH, WITHIN THE WEIRWOOD ROOTS. ONLY THOSE WITH MY BLESSING MAY RECEIVE GUEST RIGHT HERE._

Arthos raised an eyebrow, crossing his own arms as he stared back at the goddess. "Forgive me, but how was I supposed to gain your blessing without meeting you first?"

Two heavy wooden arms slammed down on either side of Arthos, shaking the ground and making him step back into a ready stance. The Wildmother brought her face closer to him, her wooden lips twisted into a scowl. _DO NOT THINK TO BE SMART WITH ME, BOY!_

She glared at Arthos, the green in her eyes swirling like a pool of moss and vines. _YOUR BLOOD ALREADY HAS MY BLESSING, HOWEVER WEAK AND TAINTED IT IS IN YOU, WANDERER. THE GIFT OF A THOUSAND EYES, A HUNDRED SKINS, AND THE DEEP WISDOM OF THE EARTH. THE BLOOD OF SKINCHANGERS, OF GREENSEERS. IT IS THAT WHICH YOUR ANCESTORS TOOK THAT GIVES YOU ENTRY IN MY DOMAIN._

Arthos let out a breath of relief as the goddess leaned away from him, but he did not relax. He wasn't sure if the Wildmother would have an even more extreme reaction to him. He had to be more careful.

"My apologies if I have offended you, Great Lady," he said in as respectful a tone as he could manage. "I have only come to ask of your knowledge and guidance."

 _YOU WOULD DARE ASK SOMETHING OF ME_ , the Wildmother asked, incredulously. _AFTER INTRUDING WHERE YOU ARE UNWANTED, WANDERER? YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE, IN MY REALM OR IN THIS WORLD._

Arthos glowered. "I never wanted - "

 _IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT YOUR PURPOSE OR INTENTIONS ARE. YOU ARE NOT WELCOME!_

The Wildmother began to straighten, her eyes glaring down upon him, as her hands rested on the ground beside her. _I ALREADY TOLERATE THE PRESENCE OF ONE OF YOUR KIND HERE, IN MY SACRED ISLE. SHE REMAINS ONLY BY MY WILL, AS MY MOUTHPIECE TO THE GREEN MEN. YOU ARE NOTHING BUT AN OUTSIDER. I WILL NOT SUFFER YOU._

Arthos felt a shiver run down his spine, as the Wildmother began to raise her arms, fingers clenching tightly into fists. _YOU MUST BE REMOVED._

"Please, let me exp-" Arthos began to say before a searing hot pain erupted all over his body. He could only let out a startled gasp, as his body began to writhe on the ground in horrible agony.

Pain.

So much pain.

Sound disappeared, except for a high-pitched ringing in his ears. Blurred colors and images swam across his vison, flecks of light and shadow. It felt like a fire had been lit up inside him, so intense it seemed to consume his very soul.

 _No_ , the thought passed through his pain-addled mind. _My_ soul _is on fire. She's burning away my very essence._

Panic began to fill his head. He didn't know how to fight this. None of his powers could protect him from an attack on his actual soul. Nothing in the green would respond to him. This was the Wildmother's spiritual domain. If she wanted to kill him, this was the worst place to be in.

Through his hazy vision, he could barely see the Wildmother, looking down on him calmly. She wasn't moving, except for her continually clenching hands. It seemed she didn't need much effort to destroy him.

Arthos clenched his teeth, trying to think through the pain. He needed a way out, a way back into the physical world. She had no hold there, though Arthos didn't know why and he didn't have time to ask. He needed the Wildmother to let go of him for just a split second.

She wouldn't, of course. He would need to break her hold, but what could break the hold of a goddess with the strength of an entire mountain? What could break a mountain?

Arthos eyes lit up. _An earthquake._

He clenched his fists and tried to focus through the unbearable pain. He'd never been very good at channeling this part of Poseidon's domain. Mostly he'd only ever used it on accident, or during a desperate situation. This definitely counted as desperate.

He felt the ground around him begin to shake weakly, but steadily growing stronger. He kept it contained in a small radius around him, he didn't want to tip off the Wildmother and he only had one shot at this. He strained to keep focus, the vibrations becoming stronger and wanting to be released.

So, he released it.

With an angry, breathless yell, Arthos lifted one hand up and slammed it on the ground. The Wildmother's endless field began to shake and crack. It was weaker than he was used to, but then again, this was the first time he'd used it in this life. As the quake reached the Wildmother, she was startled and shaken by the vibrations. Arthos felt the pain disappear, as the Wildmother lost her concentration.

 _WHAT?!_

Arthos took in several deep breaths, as relief and a dull ache encapsulated his entire body. He didn't know how much time he had before the Wildmother's shock disappeared. He began to concentrate, following the instructions Kovira had told him about exiting the green.

He needed to get his physical body to let go of the roots of the tree, in order to escape. It was hard. The pain kept him weak, though it had begun to die down, and, since this was the first time he'd ever entered the green, he was having a difficult time leaving it.

 ** _YOU. DARE?!_** As he started to mentally pry his fingers from the roots, he was struck by the searing pain once more as the Wildmother's rage began to wash over him again.

He'd run out of time. He'd failed, and he knew the Wildmother wouldn't fall for the same trick twice.

 _YOU WOULD STRIKE AGAINST THE WILDMOTHER? FOOL._

The pain that coursed through Arthos' body was stronger than before. He began to scream silently; the pain having taken the breath out of him. He didn't know how he would get out of this one. Even if he managed to break the goddess' concentration again, he still needed time to concentrate himself so he could escape.

As he tried to think of a quicker way to get out, there was a sudden flash of light and the sound of a thousand ravens permeating through the air, yet also just in his pain-addled mind. Arthos heard the Wildmother gasp, and suddenly the pain disappeared once more, leaving the young lord panting on the ground on the verge of unconsciousness.

Arthos looked up as a pair of human legs appeared in his blurred vision. As his eyes cleared, he saw the form of a young, red-headed girl, dressed in a cloak of leaves. The girl knelt down to face Arthos, her deep-green eyes filled with confusion and concern.

"Kiara?" Arthos asked in a raspy voice.

"Hello," she replied, chuckling nervously. "I'm here to help."

"No," Arthos groaned, as Kiara helped him sit up. "Get out of here! Your mother would be devastated if you died because of me."

"Neither of us are dying today," she said, somehow still looking doubtful despite her words. "Look"

Arthos turned to what she was looking at. The Wildmother had her hands cupped together near her face, her eyes shining, a hopeful smile on her lips. There was something small perched there, too small and far away for Arthos to make out.

 _MY DEAR SWEET KOVISSA_ , the goddess said in a tearful voice. _YOU'VE RETURNED TO ME._

Once again, the sound of ravens filled the air and Arthos' head. The source became clear when the thing resting in the Wildmother's hands took flight and landed on Kiara's shoulder, startling the girl. It was a raven with no eyes.

 _WHAT IS IT, KOVISSA? WHY DO YOU GO TO THIS CHILD?_

The bird raised its neck high and opened its beak. No sound came, but a thought began nibbling at the edge of Arthos mind. A word. _Serve._

The Wildmother's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed as she leaned down to put her face up near Arthos' and Kiara's. She was focused on Kiara, which made Arthos nervous. He pushed the shaking girl behind him, trying to shield her from the old god. He was in no condition to protect anyone, but he wasn't going to just lay down and die.

 _THIS ONE?_ The Wildmother asked. The raven nodded once, then began to preen its wing. _WHY?_

 _Potential._

 _VERY WELL. AND THE BOY?_

 _Change. Restore._

"What's going on?" Arthos whispered to Kiara, while keeping an eye on the Wildmother.

"I'm not certain," the girl answered, still a bit shaken being in the presence of an old god. She eyed the raven on her shoulder, who nudged her cheek with its beak. "But it looks like we get to live a bit longer."

The Wildmother sat down in front of the two children, still towering over them. _IT SEEMS YOU'VE EARNED A CHANCE AT SURVIVAL, BOY. BE GREATFUL._

"Many thanks," Arthos said sarcastically, eyeing the goddess suspiciously. "May I ask why you've changed your mind?"

The goddess nodded at the bird on Kiara's shoulder. _THIS IS NO ORDINARY RAVEN. IT IS KOVISSA, THE WHISPERER, ONE OF TWO COMPANIONS OF THE GREAT SKY SPEAR. BOTH KOVISSA AND HER BROTHER, VARDR THE WATCHER, WERE A GIFT FROM ME. IT IS THROUGH THEM THAT MY BLESSINGS WERE BASED ON. VARDR, WHO SEES WHAT WAS AND WHAT IS, AND KOVISSA, WHO SEES WHAT WILL AND CAN BE._

 _MY LITTLE BIRDS HAVE BEEN GONE FOR SO LONG, AND FOR ONE TO RETURN ONLY TO ASK YOUR LIFE BE SPARED?_ The goddess appraised Arthos, as if seeing him in a different, yet still annoying, light. _IT SEEMS THE LADY OF THE SKIES IS INTERESTED IN YOU._

" _Great_ ," Arthos said with a sardonic smile, as he got back on his feet with the help of Kiara. She hoisted him up, keeping him balanced. "Just what I needed. Another god who wants to use me."

The Wildmother ignored his comments, turning to Kiara instead. _AS FOR YOU, GIRL. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN FOR A GREAT DESTINY, ONE WHICH WILL BECOME CLEAR IN TIME._

"I'm honored?" Kiara said uncertainly. She was still shaking, though that was probably because she was half-carrying a heavy boy on her shoulders, rather than fear or nervousness.

The Wildmother chuckled, which sounded weird coming from a humanoid tree form, like bark rubbing and crashing against each other. _AS YOU SHOULD, CHILD. KOVISSA HAS SEEN YOUR POTENTIAL. YOU WILL BRING GREAT HONOR TO YOUR PEOPLE, AND THE RETURN OF THE OLD GODS. FOR THAT, I WILL FORGIVE YOUR INTRUSION UPON THIS SACRED PLACE._

"How am I to do that?"

The eyeless raven, Kovissa, cawed and caught the Wildmother's attention. The Wildmother narrowed her eyes turning to look at Arthos, but still spoke to Kiara. _KOVISSA SAYS YOU'LL FIND YOUR WAY WITH HIM._

Kiara turned to Arthos with a questioning look, which Arthos answered with a shrug and a wince.

 _NOW, BOTH OF YOU LEAVE MY DOMAIN._ The Wildmother waved her hand in dismissal, and Arthos felt himself begin to be pulled backwards. Kiara let out a small gasp as she was dragged away as well, keeping her arm around Arthos.

"Wait," Arthos called out as he struggled against an invisible wall pushing him back. "I came here for your help! How do I use the magic of the children?"

 _YOU CAN'T_ , the goddess told him, before nodding to the girl beside him. _BUT SHE CAN._

And in a flash of bright light, Arthos found himself thrust back into the physical world. He was thrown back, making him land hard on his back. He let out a groan as he was left with vestiges of the pain he felt in the green.

Arthos sat up and saw Kiara breathing hard, on her hands and knees. In front of her was the burnt-up pile of black feathers, still smoking. The glow of the Wildmother's heart stone washed over them, bathing them in shades of green.

He forced himself to stand, walking over to the kneeling girl and offering her a hand. She looked up at him as she caught her breath. She stared at his outstretched hand for a few seconds before taking it. Arthos hoisted her up, which he regretted immediately as pain crawled up his spine. In the end, Kiara had to catch him and keep him on his feet herself.

"Well," Arthos rasped out. "That wasn't how I expected things to go at all."

Kiara let out a weak chuckle. "Yes. Definitely not what I planned to do tonight."

"Why did you even come down here?" Arthos asked as Kiara helped reach the large table in the room. He let out a relieved sigh as he got to sit down on one of the chairs, while Kiara sat down on another next to him. Arthos is "I thought your mother told everyone not to go into the tunnels while I was here."

"Yes," someone answered before Kiara could. Arthos and Kiara turned around to see Kovira standing at the entrance to the cavern. She looked at them with a disturbingly calm face, which would've convinced Arthos, if her hands weren't shaking as she leaned against her walking stick. "My instructions were quite clear."

Arthos looked back at Kiara, who just stared at her mother with fear, before turning her head down in shame.

"I'm sorry," the girl whispered.

Kovira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Once she calmed down, she looked around the room, noticing the pile of burned feathers on the floor, and the broken roots at the foot of the heart stone. She let out a sigh, hobbling up to them and taking a seat across the table.

"Alright," Kovira said. "What exactly happened here?"

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

 _(A Few Days Later)_

Kiara stood at the eastern coast of the island, kicking the sand gently as she watched Arthos push a skiff out into the lake. He was having some trouble with the weight. The skiff was weighed down with several bags filled with supplies for travel.

Along the beach were a few of the villagers, as well as her mother. They were there to send them off. The villagers were all too happy with Arthos' departure. It turns out that while he was struggling against the Wildmother, he'd caused quite the strong earthquake throughout the isle. It ruined several houses, and caused a landslide along the western hills.

The villagers didn't appreciate that, nor the fact that Arthos apparently fought the Wildmother. Kiara wasn't sure how that information got out, but the villagers did not want to associate with him, despite Kovira's attempts to mend their perception of him.

The villagers watched Arthos with stony expressions, not wanting to lift a finger to help him. Kiara let out a sigh. She pulled up her bag that her mother had packed for her, and made her way towards the boy.

She plopped her bag inside the skiff, and helped Arthos push the boat along the shore. Arthos gave her a thankful smile as they made a path along the sand to the water. They stopped neared the edge, far enough so the waves don't pull at the hull of the skiff.

Arthos gestured for her to get on, as he started looking the boat over one more time. Kiara got on the boat. As she settled down on the hardwood seat, she looked up to see her mother approaching them. Arthos was wrapping the ropes up when he noticed Kovira as well.

Kovira stopped in front of them, giving them a sad look. "I apologize for my people's attitude towards you, Arthos. Hopefully they'll come around one day and you could visit again."

Arthos scoffed. "I highly doubt they're going to forgive the man who attacked one of their gods."

"Perhaps not, but one can dream."

Kovira then turned to her daughter, who had been sitting quietly in the boat watching Kovira's and Arthos' interaction. Kovira smiled lovingly at her daughter, coming closer and holding out her hand to Kiara. Kiara takes her mother's hand and grips it tightly, afraid to let go.

"I know this feels frightening, my daughter," Kovira said as she gently stroked Kiara's hand. "But you can trust in Arthos, he'll keep you safe. And if you miss me, know that you can always find me in the green. I'll be waiting to see you there."

Kiara wiped away the fledgling tears forming around her eyes. "I'll be alright, mother. I'll make you proud."

Kovira leaned in and kissed her daughter on the cheek, whispering an old blessing in her ear. "I've always been proud."

When they were finally rowing out into the water, when the villagers began to leave and only Kovira was left on the shore, watching her daughter float away, that's when Kiara let her tears fall. Arthos remained silent, choosing to keep rowing back to the mainland of Westros.

Kiara dried her tears, as the shore of the isle became distant. She turned around, looking at Arthos with bitterness, before looking behind him. She could see clear fields, and thick forests and mountains in the far distance. A large stone building, rose like a broken and burned spear reaching for the sky.

She'd never seen anything beyond the God's Eye. Everything was frightening and new. Kiara felt something stir inside her. Mixing with her anxiety, was a wonderful feeling she'd always had whenever she found something new. Kiara was excited.

Kiara was curious.

~ o ~ O ~ o ~

 ** _A/N:_**

 ** _Kiara has joined the party._**

 ** _Sorry again for missing my deadline. Writing Arthos' interaction with the Wildmother was difficult, and frankly I'm not satisfied with the final edit. But since I'm already a week late, I'll just have to do a better job next chapter._**

 ** _Next Chapter: I Don't Know (I might take a break from writing for a while, I'm drained, and I have more important tasks to do.)_**


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